#the confines of my blog. I need for it to be over. Just run me over‚ put me down‚ whatever it takes for me to not have to endure

[emstargazer]

No amount of words that I can currently muster up could express what I so desperately want to put into this post, but I'll try to start with:

I fucking hate it here.

[springismss]

ᱬ⛧ jealousy, jealousy ~ i. midoriya

sum: just some jealous! izuku thoughts

pairing: villain! izuku midoriya x girlfriend! reader

content: 18+ - mdni. jealousy p in v, language, dirty talk, possessive talk, implied/suggested multiple rounds, slight quirk use, marking, reader gets called doll/princess/baby/good girl, general NSFW content.

a/n: another request from my wattpad days that came from insta. fresh look and feels so much better, not feeling this but I've been unwell so i'll take the hit. feels like this may turn into a series soon. as always likes, comments and re-blogs are deeply appreciated!

word count: 1.7k

links: bnha/mha masterlist | jealousy, jealousy masterlist | masterlist

jealous! izuku who would look at the person trying their hardest to swoon you and wish he had a quirk that would kill them right on the spot. who wishes he could make anyone who would so much as dare breathe in your direction be six feet under.

jealous! izuku who taps his foot in annoyance when the person reaches forward to touch you, much to your disgust. who pushes himself off the wall and makes his way over to where you stood, how dare they touch his sweetheart?

jealous! izuku who reaches you just in time to hear the lowlife say something to you. "why don't you leave that pathetic wannabe, join a real villain like me?".

jealous! izuku who was close to pulling out a hidden knife and letting loose on this idiot until he heard you laugh, retorting back a quick "you're joking right? you're missing a brain cell or two". who smirked widely at your words - that's his good girl.

jealous! izuku who's had enough as the man still tried to convince you with words of "i can show you a good time" and "he's just a little boy, not a real villain". who watches as he moves closer to you, hand brushing your cheek as he tries to force a kiss on your lips.

jealous! izuku who's always been a quick mover, that you didn't have time to register what happened until it was too late. who savours the sound of heavy thudding on the concrete before turning to face you.

jealous! izuku who watches the way your eyes widen as you take in his blood-soaked state, his chest heaving as he calms himself down. who turns his whole body around when you mutter out a quick "izu", watching you press your legs together.

jealous! izuku who knows for a fact you're not only scared of what he's just done but painfully turned on. who, as disgusting as it sounds, loves fucking you in the aftermath of his brutality.

jealous! izuku who walks forward slowly, eyes dragging over you as he laughs. who makes sure there's blood on his hands as he reaches you, muttering out "be quiet for a moment, princess". who pins you against the wall as he cages you between his arms.

jealous! izuku who attaches his lips to your neck, tugging on the flesh as you gasp. who presses himself against you, loving the way you push yourself further against him. who finds himself losing his sanity at the way you moan out his name.

jealous! izuku who pulls away from your neck, dragging his eyes over your state as he mutters out a quick "i think i need to remind you of who you belong to". who runs his hands down your sides and grips your hips, hoisting you up as lips crash in a hungry kiss.

jealous! izuku who frees not only his cock from its confines but your cunt from yours. who wastes no time lining up his mushroom tip before sheathing himself fully inside you. who moans out at the feeling of your walls pulsating around him as he enjoys that tightness, the way you try to suck him in closer.

jealous! izuku who loves that moan of both pain and pleasure that sounds from your throat. who snaps his hips striking up a fast rythem that has you bouncing roughly against the wall, jaggered pieces no doubt digging in and leaving marks. "you feel so good around my cock baby girl" and "like it was made just for me" are just some of the things that fall from his lips.

jealous! izuku who drags you down on his cock at inhume speed. who loves the way you claw at his arms and shoulders in a bid to get him to slow down, the way your legs struggle to wrap around his waist.

jealous! izuku who groans out loudly as he thusts hard a few more times before he cums, painting your insides white. who laughs as he feels your walls pulsate around him but your beautiful euphoria never coming for you. "you're wrong if you think this is over, princess".

jealous! izuku who may or may not have learnt a thing or two from jealous! dabi when it comes to you. who pulls out of you and fixes himself up before bending down, throwing you over his shoulder. who likes to play with your dripping cunt as he walks back to his hideout, threating anyone who looks at or tries to help you.

jealous! izuku who's grip tightens when you giggle, fingers digging into the flesh on your side. "did i say you could laugh doll?". who pushes his fingers though your already sopping cunt, fingers curling up to press against that one spot that has you seeing metaphorical stars when you dare utter back "do i fucking care?".

jealous! izuku who tells you to "watch your mouth", for you to retort back "make me midoriya". who presses his thumb against your clit as he rubs it in circles, smirking at the way you grip onto his shirt.

jealous! izuku who, once he steps foot back in his hideout, takes you to the bedroom and throws you onto the bed. who quickly removes every single item of clothing from you both, he didn't need any more barriers. "you won't be able to walk after this".

jealous! izuku who wastes no time in flipping you over, one hand pushing your head into the mattress as the other gripped your hip. who leans over and places soft kisses on your shoulder before pushing into you hard, stretching you open once more.

jealous! izuku who groans at the way your walls clench around him again, who loves to drag the most sinful noises out of your throat as he uses his quirk to strengthen his thrusts. who hits against that spongy spot deep inside easier than before, thanks to the new angle.

jealous! izuku who feels his cock practically kissing your cervix, smirking as he moves a hand to your throat and picks you up, pinning you against his chest. who chuckles at your gasps as he threads his fingers into your hair and pulls, forcing you to look up at the ceiling as he restricts your movements, much to your delight.

jealous! izuku who moves the hand from your side to between your legs, pad of his thumb swiping against your clit as his fingers sink into your already full cunt. who moves his fingers in the opposite direction of his cock, never letting you catch a break as he circles your clit more. who can feel your walls pulsate around him, your body begging him to let you feel that beautiful high.

jealous! izuku who, after a few more thrusts, hears his name falling from your lips in a broken cry, walls trying desperately to milk him closer to his own high. who gives you no time to rest as he quickly pulls out of you, laying down as he encourages you to sit on top of him. who groans out when you sink yourself down onto his cock again, legs shaking as you pant. who thrusts up into you before you have a chance to move.

jealous! izuku who uses his quirk again, this time using blackwhip to restrain your arms behind your back, pulling you into a beautiful arch. who chuckles darkly as you try to move without being able to steady yourself. "oh sweetheart, you know better than to let another man look at you, let alone touch you".

jealous! izuku who leans up and warps an arm around your waist, hips thrusting harshly against you once more. who can feel that you're close to your euphoria once more. who places rough kisses and bites over your glistening skin, being sure to mark you for everyone to see. "i'm going to make you forget about everyone who ever came before me".

jealous! izuku who, after a few more moments, pulls your head closer to him, who crashes his lips onto yours in a messy and desperate kiss. whose breath fans against your swollen appendages as he mutters out to you. "come undone for me doll, i want to feel you soak my cock before i fill you up".

jealous! izuku who likes to help you along by offering words of "that's my good girl", "that pretty pussy was made just for me", "i'm going to stuff you so full of my cum, everyone will see it drip and know who you belong to".

jealous! izuku who moans out as he feels you clamp around him, the squelching noises growing in loudness before you cry out again. who feels small droplets as you squirt on his thighs. who throws his head back with a groan as he cums hard, shooting out thicker ropes of his seed deep within you.

jealous! izuku who only needs a moment to recover before he changes what he likes to pin you beneath him on, going as far as to use every surface he can find to his advantage, even ones you wouldn't think would be good. who makes sure to fuck you until you can't feel your legs, struggling to stand without falling down.

jealous! izuku who promises to do this every time you dare make him jealous. sure he likes to fuck you, take his time with you on most days but on the days when things like earlier happened, you'll not be able to walk for a good day or two, if you did manage to walk, you would be with with a slight limp.

jealous! izuku who touches you at every opportunity, glares at anyone who dares look your way. he doesn't like to share at the best of times. who'll always make sure you know who holds your heart.

jealous! izuku who is really insecure! izuku. who knows that there are better guys out there for you, guys who would be able to give you a life of ease, not a life of having to hide in the shadows.

insecure! izuku who slowly accepts that regardless of his status, you'll love him regardless. it wasn't who he was in society you fell in love with, but who he was deep inside - that same timid boy who stole your heart years ago.

© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.

[dog-bimbo]

Shiu with a shy virgin!reader? ^.^ *runs away*

YUMMMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY 😵‍💫🩷 i wrote this during my break please don't mind lol minors and ageless blogs do not interact !

when you first met shiu, you knew that he was one of those guys who wouldn't be too serious about pursuing a meaningful relationship. that's mainly because he made it abundantly clear from the start—not in a cruel way, but with a bluntness that left no room for misunderstanding. he was a busy man with a less-than-noble profession, settling down seemed absurd to him—something that had gradually turned into a foreign concept as he aged. it wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in you. in fact, he thought you were absolutely stunning. he might have said he wanted nothing serious, but the words coming out of his mouth didn’t quite align with the thoughts swirling in his head. for a guy who preferred one night stands, he was oddly passionate. you expected it to be quick and dirty by the way he parked his car at the nearest motel he could find. inside the confines of this gritty motel room, he had you sitting on his lap like a doll. the make-out session was hot and so, so, sooo steamy... slow and gentle pecks all over your face morphing into deep and passionate kisses.... his bitter tongue left you longing for all the things he could offer. and honey, he was generous. he pulls himself away from you, his face betraying all of the lust building up in his system, "fuck..." his voice is breathy and raspy, "you've not kissed many guys, have ya'?" your skittish charm gave it all away but he wasn't the one to judge you for that. it was an obligation to make your first time as special as he could and he was more than experienced for the both of you. "just..." he strengthened his grip on your waist as his other hand travelled to your inner thigh, his gentle caresses warming you up, "jus' look at me, yeah? i need you to lock your eyes with me. that's all i need." he coos as his hand reaches your panties, his thumb prodding against your clothed cunt. "communication is key, mhm? jus' tell me when it's too much." at this point, you don't know whether to focus on your heart swelling due to his sweet, considerate words or let out a guttural whimper as his thumb slides inside your panties. he's testing it, he's taking his time to find your sweet spot. you adjust yourself on his lap as he feels you up. his fingers are fucking magic—the way they stretch your insides so well, just to prep you for what's coming next... "so wet and eager," he chuckles at your expense near your ear as you squirm. you didn't seem to understand why he had specifically asked you to maintain eye contact but as his cock kisses your cervix again and again and again, you seemed to get it. it was hard to be this intimate with a person without feeling overwhelmed. it was torturous but a little bit of mental overstimulation was nothing compared to how good it felt. soon enough, you were lost. you could feel your knots getting tighter and tighter before they loosened up, making you arch your back as your squeezed around his cock. you've lost count of just how many times this man had made you cum. you could feel your brain melting out of your ears but you didn't break your promise. you kept looking at him with the fervour that he had demanded from you. "you're doin' so fucking good fo' me... so fucking tight," and the words coming out of his gritted teeth made you feel so special, so achingly good... you were close to tapping out but you needed more of it... more of his sweet words and his lengthy girth molding your pussy untouched by no one but you till this point. you loop your arms around his neck as tightly as you wrap your legs around his waist, his tongue as well as his cock diving deeper into you... and while shiu knew his shit, he was losing his mind as your gummy, tight walls milked his cock as well. you can keep riding this high forever and ever if that was a possibility, and lucky for you, he wants the same thing too, "don't think i can ever let you go..." ౨ৎ･ﾟ:*

[malicedragoness]

Nsft Havik Headcanons

Listen up y’all. This is by far, without a doubt, the weirdest thing I have written for this blog. Havik is not for everyone. So please read the warnings before you decide to read.

I don’t know why I’m attracted to this damn zombie man. But goddamnit!

Let me know if y’all want a part 2 or have questions.

WARNINGS: Havik is his own warning, body horror, limb detachment, lots of blood, manic behavior, Havik saying absurd shit.

-At first, he hates your guts when he meets you. He’s not supposed to want you. Owning things and keeping them in line aren’t his philosophy. A relationship feels like confinement and ownership. There shouldn’t be ownership. And yet he wants to keep you to himself.

He hates it. You represent everything he is against and he hates that he wants you. But if you returned his affections, he would keep you close to him and act like a violent guard dog to anyone that gets close to you.

-Havik is a chest guy. It’s not so much for nipples/boobs, but he has an obsession with your heart. He wants to be able to physically touch it and it tortures him that he can’t. So he settles for being as close to it as possible.

Havik favors positions where he can see and feel your chest and salivate over it. His favorite pastime is to lay his head on your chest and listen to your heartbeat like a thief trying to crack open a safe.

One thing about being with Havik, you need to get used to some of the absurd shit he says. During sex he’ll comment: “Just one chomp. One good chomp and I’ll be eating your heart out of your body, and sip your life’s blood.”

“I can hear your blood singing to me.”

“So sweet. So forbidden. Please, let me just lick it?”

Once Havik reaches a certain point in your relationship, he will let you physically touch his heart. He opens his chest to show you how fast it beats when you’re around. “Only you can make my heart dance like this.”

Even if you don’t want to touch it, he makes you. In his own delusional way, he’s showing you he trusts you.

-Masochist. It should go without saying that Havik enjoys pain, specifically if you’re the one to inflict it. From simple things like nipple clamps and tight cock rings, to drawing patterns in his skin with a knife. He gets off on you hurting him.

And while he loves pain, Havik would never turn away any tenderness you give him. If you stroke his hair, he’ll rub his head into your hand like a kitten. He will take any form of touch and affection you give. Gentle or cruel.

-Havik is proud of how absurdly flexible and detachable his body is. He can arch his body in different ways and put it in angles that aren’t humanly possible. Sometimes he detaches his head and will watch his body fuck you from across the room. There are times during sex where he has you hold his detached head to your chest while he fucks you, so he can listen to your heart beat.

-Licks your blood like it’s a delicacy. If you’re ever injured in a fight or if you have a cut on your finger, Havik is quick to come lick it. He’ll moan in ecstacy tasting your blood and his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Your blood is a shot of adrenaline to his system, and he gets more impatient than usual, and wants to drag you off to fuck you that instant.

-He is loud! There’s no restraint with him. He growls, he moans, he screams, he talks. He can never be quiet. So if you don’t want to be caught in the act, make sure you’re not anywhere public.

-Oral sex can be tricky for him. It’s not that he lacks enthusiasm. Far from it. But with no lips he’s relying heavily on his tongue and fingers to give you pleasure. For men, he circles his tongue around your cock and uses his hands to jerk you off.

-Love bites and nibbles replace all the kisses he could’ve left on your body. After his face got damaged, he realized he prefers it this way. Bite marks litter your skin and he’s all too happy to run his tongue over them.

-Havik experiences bouts of mania after fighting and being covered in blood. When he’s high in his mania, his masochistic tendencies get extreme. He wants you to slice him up, tie him down, pull his hair, torture him by making him cum multiple times so he gets overstimulated. He wants to feel pain.

Eventually, he will rip his arms off to get out of the restraints so he can take out his energy on you. And when he’s in it deep, he’s loud and sets a brutal pace.

“You feel so gooooood! I want to see your brains spill out of your head!”

(Keep in mind, he would never hurt you like that. But he says things in the throes of pleasure.)

When he goes through these episodes, it seems like it lasts for hours before he finally stops. Once he comes down from his high, he is exhausted from the emotional overload. He’ll cling onto you, shaking and crying. Desperate for an anchor as he rides the waves of his mental crash, loving the feel of you petting his hair.

-After being together for a while, he’ll break off one of his fingers and give it to you. Havik won’t grow it back. He puts it on a cord for you to wear around your neck. It’s his way of proposing to you. No matter where you go, you always have a piece of him.

[wildemaven]

Sweet Creature: Chapter Nine

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

WC: 8k

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Fluff, a kiss of angst, talk of past relationship and break up, pregnancy scare, mopey Poppy, nervousness and anxiety, brief mentions of sobriety, smut, self doubt, public speaking, reader has the nickname Poppy- zero physical description, to dumb dumbs in love

A/N: This is a doozy of a chapter, there was so much to pack in for these two. I can’t believe we’re nearing the end, I had definite moments of sadness as I was wrapping up this chapter but also found so inspiration to help tie up the story for these two! You can listen to Dieter & Poppy’s Playlist Here. Also a big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for constantly listening and helping me through this one, I definitely needed it on this chapter.

Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist

Previous/ Epilogue

It had taken a few months for Dieter to tangle himself into your life. 

Inching his way into your mind, settling deep within your bones and eventually finding shelter in the most sacred of places— your heart. 

It took only a matter of a few short days for him to imprint himself into your home, pieces of him lingering in your space, even long after he had left. 

But you can’t seem to pull yourself from the confines of your bed, each morning since his departure, you study the hollowed out spot where his worn body claimed as his, still having yet to find the energy to make it or wash the sheets clean of the hours of intensity and conversations ingrained into the plush pillow-top. 

Your fingers run over the creases of the pillow, remembering how you would trace the same lines etched across his face in the early mornings, the usual scrunch between his brows smooth and relaxed, the faintest of snores escaping his parted lips— memorizing his angelic dreamy state. 

A soft thread catches the path your finger continues to take. A silky strand of hair, no longer a part of him, now woven in through the fibers of your cotton pillowcase— proof he was here and existed in this space with you, with those unruly thick curls tousled with ardency, sweat and sleep— your fingers still managing to work through the wildness. 

*

-Saturday Morning-

“What was your last serious relationship like?” Dieter asks, laying on his side with an arm bent, head propped on his hand, your bed sheet draped over his naked lower half. 

His free hand mapping out the plains of your exposed skin, the morning sun filters through your bedroom window, providing a soft muted light as his fingers continue to unearth new details of your body he has yet to see in daylight. 

“Oof! Hitting me with the serious stuff first thing in the morning.” The rasp of sleep still coating your throat, your body turned in close towards him with one arm tucked between your pillow and resting head, your free hand mesmerized by the texture of his skin— connecting invisible lines between each freckle painted across his neck and chest. 

“Question for a question then. But you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.” 

“No, it’s fine. It’s— just a lot for some people to hear. Kind of just keep it to myself, less questions and ‘how come’ once they find out.” 

“Hey, I won’t judge you, for anything you tell me— ever.”

Dieter watches the way your eyes flit about for a few seconds, his hand stopping to rest on your naked hip with a gentle squeeze, a reassuring gesture of sincerity in his words. 

“Frankie was my high school sweetheart, we started dating our senior year. We were together— gosh…. 5, almost 6 years.” You let out a sigh, all the memories of your previous relationship flooding back to you, having been locked away for so long. 

“After high school, when we realized things were getting serious, we decided to figure out what we wanted moving forward. We were on the same page with everything for the most part, no real deal breakers. We would get married after college, buy a house— a seemingly cookie cutter life together.”

“I’m not following— sounds like the perfect life to me.” Confusion settles across his forehead, brows drawn together as he studies your face. 

“Except, I couldn’t give him the one thing he wanted— kids.” You notice the way his face drops when you say it, knowing his first thought is exactly what everyone else usually assumes when you tell them.

“I guess I should rephrase that— I didn’t want, don’t want kids. It was something we established too, both on board with living a childless life. We agreed we would be the best Aunt and Uncle for our friend’s kids.”

Dieter nods at your admission, the hand on your hip starting to leave feather-like strokes the length of your side, goosebumps scattering across your warm skin. 

“It wasn’t until we were well into our relationship that things changed. We had a bit of a pregnancy scare, we were both very careful too, so it was a bit of a shock when it happened. I was angry with myself— how could I let it happen? What did I do wrong? All the things running through my head the minute I saw those pink lines, wondering how we were going to afford a baby on our combined income, all while trying to get through finishing college— I spiraled pretty hard for a good week. But, through some routine testing, we discovered it was a false-positive— I was so fucking relieved!” 

Your fingers still over the hollow of his neck, taking a deep breath, not really sure how Dieter is taking everything you’re saying. 

“In the midst of my inner turmoil over the thought of being pregnant, I hadn’t really checked in with Frankie to see where his head was at, I had just assumed he was riding the same boat as me.”

“He changed his mind?” He asks. 

“Yeah— or it was what he had always wanted, he just didn’t realize it until that week, when it was almost a possibility.”

“So you broke up?”

“We stayed together for another year afterwards, thinking we could work through it. But I couldn’t keep that from him, it would have eaten me alive being the reason he wasn’t 100% happy. We decided it was best if we split.” You can’t help the smile that starts to develop, Dieter’s receptive demeanor made this whole moment feel a little less heavier than you thought it would be. 

“I ended up running into Frankie a few years ago. We caught up and I learned he ended up joining the army, Special Forces I think, met his wife while saving her from some bar creep, always the chivalrous one—  and they have two little girls. I like to think we both ended up where we were supposed to be.”

There’s a prick of something that ricochets across his chest— the pairing of unaltered reverence and adoration. You just want the best for others, and it shows even in how not that long ago how you went to battle for Diem out of pure love, wanting the best for her and Wren— he respects you so much now looking back on it. 

Dieter leans over and places a few soft kisses to your lips, the last one lingering a little longer before pulling away to rest his forehead on yours. 

“Thank you, for sharing that with me.” He murmurs against your lips. 

“Of course. My question now— What about you? Do you want kids?” You ask. 

Dieter gently pushes you to your back, settling himself between your legs, peering down at you with a soft smile.

“I’ll only ever be Uncle Dude— never had the desire to be a dad.” 

His head dips down to your still bare chest, the few kitten-like licks before he takes your nipple into his mouth, scorching and persistent, causing your back to arch up into him, eyes fluttering closed and mouth wide as you emit a breathless whine. 

A few intense sucking motions before he gives your breast an experimental bite, his eyes observing the way your body writhes at the juxtaposition of sensations before releasing it with a pop, blowing a stream of cold air across your wet skin and watching the way your nipple instantly tightens. 

He crawls up your body, one arm resting next to your head as the other snakes down between your bodies taking hold of his now hardened cock, a few quick strokes before he’s notching the head at your now dripping entrance. 

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like partaking in the act.” His words punctuated by him fully sheathing himself into your cunt.

“Oh fuck! Dieter—“ Your laugh quickly exchanged for a heady moan. 

Your bodies meld together in a heated indulgence. The slippery grip of dewy skin as your bodies work in a synergistic fashion, calculated snapping of hips take you both to a climactic level of bliss. 

*

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

The vibration of your phone against your nightstand draws you back from the reliving of your weekend with Dieter, interrupting the playlist streaming through the phone speaker. 

You grab your phone to check who the message is from…

Mom ❤️: Hey Sweetheart! Let me know when you’re heading over. Going to sit by the pool for a bit until then. This place is beautiful, I might not ever leave! Talk to you soon!

The music promptly picks back up again with its uptempo beat, you connect your phone to your speakers in the living room, the words floating brightly in the background as you will yourself out of bed. 

In route to a much needed cup of coffee, you pull on the fuzzy warm jacket that seems to have established itself as an essential element in your daily life, dropping your phone in its cavernous pocket before bringing the fleecy fabric to your face for a brief moment. It’s a cognitive experience, the inhalation of the still drenched in his signature Dieter-musk, making your insides gooey and flustered. 

‘Ooh, I lose control, can't seem to get enough, uh-huh

When I wake from dreaming, tell me is it really love?’

You chuckle into your cup as you take that first sip, the words a flawless depiction, and complete coincidence of every morning this week. 

A quick text back to your mom to fill her in on the day’s plans. 

Poppy: Hi Mom! Had a bit of a slow morning, but I’m up and moving now! Going to shower and get ready. I thought we could go to this new sandwich shop that just opened. I've been wanting to try it. I’ll text you when I’m on my way to the hotel. Love you

Your mom had gotten in late last night, still having not seen her yet. Diem was so kind to put her up in the Capri for the weekend, your mom insisting she didn’t want to intrude and give you space. 

It was her first time visiting since you had moved, but not her first time to Ojai. She had visited on numerous occasions in her travels before having you, it was usually a brief stop for a few hours to grab a quick bite and then off to her next stop. 

As a child, you would spend hours browsing through her endless collection of photo albums, dreaming up your own stories about visiting her favorite places— grainy Kodak Portra 160 was her film of choice, the color grading and light leaks adding to the cinematized scenes. There was something alluring about Ojai, always spending a little extra time with those images, it had become your ‘one day I am going to move there’ place. So, when you had started actually considering moving, your mind instantly went to Ojai— it was a no-brainer this was the place you were meant to set your roots in. 

A slow sip of the ambered liquid trickles down your throat, its atomic structure hitting every nerve as it slowly expands in your veins, giving you the ample amount of energy to keep you from crawling right back in bed. 

A thrumming piano tune dances across the room, instantaneously reliving the moment you coerced Dieter to add it to your growing playlist, selfishly you hope the familiar high falsetto voice evokes the same memory for Dieter as it does for you when he shuffles through the songs. 

Just a small town girl

Livin' in a lonely world

She took the midnight train going anywhere

Just a city boy

Born and raised in South Detroit

He took the midnight train going anywhere

*

-Sunday Afternoon-

“Add. The. Song. Dieter!” A purely joking dramatic version of yourself pleads with him, you sense the song isn’t a front-runner for Dieter, but you’re enjoying the banter it’s causing. 

The popular chorus continues roaring through the living room where you’ve both been camped out for the last hour, switching off listening to music on bith your record player and Dieter’s Spotify account.

It felt silly when you suggested you both should create a compilation of songs that you could listen to and think of the other person— complete cheeseball move. It was reminiscent of junior high when you would download songs off shady sites and then burn the perfect cd mix for your crush, labeling it— I really like you but I’m not good with words, so here’s some songs instead— the cover art hand drawn sharpie doodles and emo quotes that could bring a 15 year old girl in love to tears. Being it was modern times, Dieter opted for a playlist of top favorite songs between the two of you, dubbing it ‘Dieter’s & Poppy’s Mix Tape.’

He wants to engrain this scene in his mind forever, your naked form cloaked in his beloved brown jacket, dancing around your living room, belting the lyrics in the most out of tune way. 

“Streetlights, people!— Dieter, please! You said our favorite songs— this would be a favorite of mine! Add the damn song!!” 

“This— This is your favorite song? It’s like the most overplayed karaoke song in the history of music” His cocked eyebrow as he holds his phone with the Spotify app open in his lap, finding it hard to hold off his growing smirk and not surprised in the least that it’s a top pick for you. 

“I’ll have you know, I am the reigning Karaoke Queen, west of the Mississippi River— you're in the presence of royalty, Babe. Don't stop believin' Hold on to that feelin'!” Grabbing another slice of cold pizza from the half eaten box on the coffee table, you continue twirling about on your tippy toes, maintaining your off-key singing between bites. 

“Something tells me your full of shit. Fine— It’s added. But I’m adding ‘You Need to Calm Down’ for tax.”

“I need to do what?” Your twirling ceases, the bottom of his jacket swaying about as you watch the way he stares down at his phone, fingers pecking at the screen. 

“No— it’s a song. According to Wren, “it’s a Taylor Swift masterpiece!’” His air quotes and deadpan expression almost take you out. 

“Never would have pegged you as a Swiftie, but I love it.”

“Well, it’s all she wants to listen to on the drive to school. I can’t help it if i know every word to almost every song.”

The next song plays through, Dieter continues to watch you from his spot on the couch, loving the carefree manner in which you move, your infectious smile on display as you sing along to a song you definitely do not know a single word to, eyes closed and arms stretched out letting the chorus fully envelop your mind— this whole moment solidifying his love for you. 

He brings his phone up and snaps a few pictures, each image progressively blurrier as he tries to capture you dancing, his last attempt is more or less successful, the timing just right and the result an accurate depiction of how he wants look back on this time together— a flash of your beaming smile that causes your eyes to crinkle at the edges and your audacious desire to be completely yourself in front of him is a picture worth taking. 

“Are you taking a picture of me?” Breathless and smiling. 

“Guilty. I need something to remember this day while I’m away.”

“Okay, but take a better one then.” 

Grabbing his sunglasses off the table to situate them on your face, your bare leg crossed over and kicked out to the side in an ameture Radio City Rockette fashion, middle fingers erect while your hands cover your now exposed breasts, a one-sided nose scrunch and curled lip with some semblance of a smile, all while the remaining slice of your pizza dangles from your mouth. 

“Beautiful, just like the other ones.” His chest vibrates at the sight of you, he pats his thighs motioning for you to come over to where he’s seated. “Alright Karaoke Queen, get your sexy little Believin’ ass over here!” 

Tossing your crust back into the pizza box, you skip-hop over to him, your knees sinking into the cushions of the couch as you straddle his boxer clad lap. His hands sliding under where his Jacket is splayed open, his warm touch glides over your thighs. 

“Let me see— the others, please.” You ask timidly, not sure what ‘others’ entails, pulling his sunglasses off and tossing them to the side. 

His thumb swipes and presses across his phone screen, then hands you an open folder of images, tiny intimate squares fill the screen. You click on the most recent ones of you here in your home, laughing at how ridiculous you think you look, glancing up to see Dieter’s head tilted to the side and his gaze fixed on you. Refocusing on his phone, you start swiping, so many images of times you had spent together, except you're the main focus of each photo, very much unaware of your photo being taken. 

There was the afternoon spent baking cupcakes for no reason other than they sounded delicious. Flour covering the surface of the counter, while you and Wren laugh at something completely unrelated to the making of said cupcakes— equal amounts of flour coating both your hands and faces. 

There’s the backyard dinner Diem had invited you over for. You were seated across from where Dieter and Diem were sitting, listening intently to something she was saying. The sun warm against your back as it had started its descent, your elbow propped on the table and chin resting on your hand, your attention focused on every aspect of the conversation. 

The first evening Dieter and Wren had attended your art class together, a few of you talking about something art related and then a couple of you actually painting and drawing— your face naturally lighting up at you sharing art with others. 

Each swipe revealed another image, so many of you smiling while looking off at whatever had your attention, full body laughs shared with someone out of frame, deep in thought or absorbed into something you were reading or looking at on your phone. 

Seeing your life candidly curated in a digital collection of photos has so many emotions whirling through your mind, love being the most prominent one. 

Your breath hitches when you scroll to the last image in the folder.

You're at the front of your classroom, a stack of papers tucked against your chest as your smile beams out to your class. You note your outfit isn’t your usual uniform, you're wearing your favorite band tee, jeans and sneakers— it’s the morning you were late and Dieter stepped in to help you out, bringing a sense of ease to your disarray of a morning. 

“I think that was one of the moments I knew.” Dieter’s smoky voice cuts into the air, pointing at the image you’ve been studying a little longer than the others.

“Knew what?” Looking up from the phone to see his chestnut eyes twinkling with adoration, his hands gently rubbing against your hips. 

“Knew that I needed you in my life, however that was.” 

“There were others?”

“Your art class was another.”

There’s a beat of silence between you, the start of the next song picking up its pace. 

“Do you ever imagine what it would be like if we would have met each other sooner than we did?” Something you’ve thought about at times, wishing you had more time with him, maybe if you had met sooner. Your fingers trace along the ridge of his collarbone as you wait for his answer. 

“No— you would have definitely deserved better than who I was back then. You would have hated the thought of being in the same room as me.” 

He wouldn’t have been anything close to who he is now, grateful you were never fully subjected to the asshole he used to be. 

Your hand settles on his bare chest, right where his heart is beating fiercely.

“I deserve you now though. And I definitely want to be in every room you walk into.” 

‘Tears stream down your face

I promise you I will learn from my mistakes

Tears stream down your face, and I

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones And I will try to fix you’

Your lips meet his in an unhurried embrace, Dieter pulling your lower body closer to his, his fingers digging into the meat of your backside when your hips start to gradually begin to grind against him, his cock hardening with each brush of your wet cunt. 

His hands create their own intimate paths over your body, one traveling up the length of your spine, the other moving to the underside of your breast, cupping the supple weight of it in his palm. A swipe of his thumb over your sensitive nipple has you gasping into his mouth, the catalyst for your silent plea for more— and he hears it loud and clear. 

His hands. His mouth. His cock— all working in perfect, articulate motions. Until you’re succumbing to the culmination of purposeful exertion and precise execution. 

The last 48 hours were spent with Dieter's departure looming in the background of your minds, not allowing yourselves to stew on the impending heartache that was to come the moment you said your goodbyes. 

Between the hours of relaxed conversations and alleviating desirous needs, you both managed to get through the weekend with a strong sense of optimism about the future. A shared commitment to each other, with endless promises of check-ins whenever possible and working out a plan to see each other once Dieter had his schedule set, it was enough to keep the sadness at bay— it gave you something to look forward to. 

The afternoon slowly began to bleed into your final evening together, tangled limbs and intimate memories treated with exactness, fueling hushed whispers of ‘I love yous’ embedding themselves into every single part of your soul. 

*

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK 

You hadn’t been expecting anyone, the rapid knock on your front door was a complete surprise. 

After confirming your name with the sweet delivery lady, she hands off the beautiful dried floral arrangement, mentioning a card was tucked into the center, wishing you a great rest of your day before driving away. 

You had never seen anything like it before, an incredible assortment of dried flowers, stems and oversized leaves arranged meticulously in a ceramic vase. 

Placing the flowers on the kitchen counter, you pull the small card from it, reading the small written note:

Poppy, I’m so proud of you! You’re so talented and I can’t wait to hear how tonight goes. Love you, Dieter

You smile at his thoughtfulness, missing him so much and needing to hear his voice desperately. 

Pulling your phone from the coat pocket, you dial his number and hope there’s a chance you catch him at a good time. 

“Hello.” There’s warmth in the way his voice cracks through the phone. 

“Hi. I just got the flowers— they’re absolutely beautiful, Dieter. Thank you!” 

“I can’t take full credit. Nessa, my assistant, said you might like them, something about them lasting forever. Anyways, she set up the order while I was in a meeting.” 

“Well, I’ll have to thank her at some point then.” There’s some static carrying through the line as you continue your conversation.

“How are you feeling about today?” 

“Good. Just finally pulled myself out of bed. Going to get dressed, then have lunch with my mom before I get ready for tonight. I miss you, Dieter.” 

There’s a brief moment where it sounds like the call cuts out, looking at the screen you see it’s still counting up the call minutes, still connected. 

“I— you too. ‘Ant wait— it goes….”

“Dieter?…Hello? Babe, your phone keeps cutting out.”

*Call Dropped* 

The connection was lost, conversation cut short, staring at a now black phone screen. 

Poppy💐: Your service must be shitty or something, couldn’t hear most of what you were saying. Call me when you can. Love you 💜

You attach a photo of the flowers along with your message. Knowing if he was in a bad service area, you wouldn’t be getting an immediate response, so you take that as your cue to get yourself ready. 

Poppy: Getting dressed! Should be leaving here in 20 minutes. See you in a bit mom! 😘 

*

Your mom’s presence was exactly what you needed today. Seeing her sitting across from you now makes you feel less overwhelmed by the fact that your boyfriend isn’t here and you’re hours away from sharing this passion project of yours, something so intimate and personal, with a room full of art loving strangers.

But even in her presence, you still find your mind wandering— Dieter being the central character of your deviating thoughts— even things outside your home, the smallest of details, reminding you of him in some way. 

Bart’s across the street, a favorite spot for both of you, especially after the talk you both shared coming to an understanding and moving forward together with a new perspective on each other.

Someone walking by, where your mom and you are sitting together on the restaurant patio, was carrying a merchant bag from a store you had bought Dieter’s birthday present. There was a gold colored velvet button up shirt cover in a large geometric print that you had seen while out shopping with Diem one weekend, she had made the offhand comment that it was totally something Dieter would wear and when you had found out a few days later that Dieter’s birthday was the following weekend, you immediately went back to buy it for him. 

You had also thrown in a pair of tiny Frozen charms, Elsa for Wren and Olaf for Dieter, for the Crocs you had seen him wear around Diem’s house on movie nights, in the chance he hated the shirt you knew he was a sucker for kitschy gifts— by the way he wears the shirt regularly, it’s fair to assume he likes it. 

You even think of him in the most laughable ways too, like when a car similar to his drives by the restaurant, you of course immediately think of him— you find yourself to be a lost cause at this point. 

“I’m so sorry, Sweetheart, I’m sure Dieter would love to be here if he could. Aside from him leaving, how was the rest of the week after he left?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I asked how’s your week been? We haven’t talked much since last week.” 

“Oh my gosh, Mom! I’m so sorry— I’m literally the worst person to be around right now, I’m sure. I’ve been so in my head lately, I can’t even think straight.” You cover your face as you apologize for being lackluster company to her, realizing you’ve spent most of lunch off in La-La-Land. 

“My week was good though. With summer break starting last week, I spent most of this wrapping up last minute grading and finishing up paperwork. Monday and Tuesday I went to clean up my classroom, just mainly clearing out old projects and lesson plans from the past year. Which then left me the rest of the week to get my canvases prepared and hung up over at Reverie, where the art opening is tonight.”

“Sounds like it’s kept your mind off of Dieter not being able to be there tonight.” She gives you a sympathetic look, and it makes you feel so appreciative that she flew out to be here for you. 

“If I’m being honest, it really hasn’t. I just selfishly keep wishing he didn’t have leave so I could have more time with him. And then I hate myself for even thinking that, because I’m so happy and proud of him— he deserves this, I just miss him so much. We’ve tried to talk and FaceTime when we can, but his schedule right now has been busy, so I just sit and wait for him to call most evenings. God, I sound ridiculous!” A slight crack to your voice as you’re overcome with emotion, it’s sadness and happiness all wrapped up in a perfect little box sitting in your chest, lifting your chin up as you fight back the tears that threaten to break. 

“Oh, honey.” She passes you a few clean napkins, noticing the few tears that managed to escape. “Maybe give him a call in a bit, I’m sure hearing his voice will help you feel better.”

“Yeah, I’ll give him a call when I get home. Thanks mom. I’m so glad you’re here! Let’s talk about something else, bring the mood back up. How’s retirement going?” Changing the subject to hopefully suppress your mopey demeanor, dabbing your wet cheeks lightly. 

“Oh, it’s great! I’ve actually been thinking about doing some traveling now that I have all this time.” 

“I love that for you mom. You should go, see the world— you deserve it.” 

She shared about the places she had already started planning to visit— in and around Canada, parts of Europe, then several areas of South America. You greedily wished she didn’t want to go, feeling a steady wave of emotions rock through you at the thought of her being gone for so long. But, you know how much traveling means to her, it’s pure joy watching the way she can’t stop smiling as she shows you landmark places she’ll be visiting— a true testament to chase after the things you love. 

*

Doubt. 

Fear. 

Trepidation. 

A war of anxieties. Ruthless, belligerent intruders, battling for control and power. Your mind slowly forfeits, white flag in waiting, ready to surrender yourself to the helm of your own enemies. 

Even with the excitement surrounding tonight, you hadn’t really mastered the art of calming intrusive thoughts and apprehension once they began to build their way into your consciousness.

There’s the brief moment where you consider getting back into your car and driving home— rid yourself of the stress and anxiety that is overcoming you at the thought of being the center of attention tonight— albeit your art the main focus, but with that will come talking about yourself and it has you ready to bail. 

But, you had put so much time and effort into this collection, executing and curating an intimate journey of discovery in the form of detailed lines and brush strokes that make up a whole series of paintings you are incredibly proud of. 

Breathe. 

In. 

Out. 

Dieter comes to mind, the words he shared with you before he left: 

“You were made for this, it’s who you are and it’s what you know— don’t let you be the reason you stop chasing what you deserve. I believe in everything you do, you should too.” 

His words wash over you, each one forging a path for you to conquer your reluctance to seek out something that you have always dreamed of doing. 

You pull out your phone to shoot Dieter a quick text before heading into the gallery. 

Poppy💐: Hi! I miss you and wish you were here ❤. Hope you had a great day. I’ll have Diem take pictures to send you later. Call me when you can. Love you xo

Remembering back to when  Dieter had shared something he does when his anxiety starts to surface, deciding to take a minute to borrow his technique to help ground your thoughts. 

You see the vibrant lights from the front windows of Reverie Studio, the way the moon is peeking out from behind the building making its way through the sky, the streak of lights from headlights of passing cars, blurred bodies of people milling around the streets unbothered by you rooted in the center of the sidewalk, the time stamped over an image of you and Dieter as the lock screen on your phone. 

You feel the weight of your phone leaving your hand as you drop it in your purse, the flowy dress that you picked out with Diem a few weeks ago specifically for this evening, a folded piece of paper with notes for the small speech you were going to give, a good luck charm in the form of Dieter’s 1 year chip clutched tightly into your hand. 

You hear the muted chatter of the early birds spilling from the open door of the gallery, the mingling musical instruments in the local park showering concert goers with an original melodic song, an indistinguishable mix of hello’s and goodbye’s wrapped around gossip filled phone conversations. 

You smell the sweet-vanilla-waffle confections of the little ice cream shop that stays open late during the summer, a hint of a smokey musk dusting the air reminding you of the woody spicy that’s so distinctly Dieter. 

You taste the delicate flavors of a savory future, one that has a palatable balance of sweetness and verve— something so delectable that you don’t think you’ll be able to stop reveling in its richness. 

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

Your immediate thought is it’s Dieter, pulling out your phone to see it’s instead Diem. 

Diem: Are you going to stand out there all night?? Get your ass in here!

She’s standing in the window with Wren on her hip, both of them waving at you. 

Feeling a somewhat renewed sense of confidence, you wait for a break in the passing cars and jog across the street to join the crowd already forming inside. 

You’re completely taken aback once you’re through the front door, not by the overwhelming number of people who showed up to view your work, but by how the room is filled with a plethora of vases overflowing with poppies. 

The edges of the room, table tops, display pedestals all covered in a sea of pinks, oranges and pale yellow flowers. 

“So glad you could show up!” Diem and Wren wrap you in a joint hug, a warm greeting with a touch of her special sarcasm. 

“Where did all these flowers come from? They weren’t here yesterday when I stopped in to do some final touches.”

“A certain someone might have wanted to surprise you with something special.”

There’s an immediate pang in your chest, his thoughtfulness and his way of showing support by filling the studio space with your favorite flowers, you have to actively fight off the urge to cry tears of happiness. 

You snap a few photos, focusing on the ones that sit below where your canvases are hung on the fabricated display walls. 

You can’t contain the smile plastered across your face, seeing your work being admired by those in attendance, getting a chance to catch up with friends and fellow artists and having your mom close by listening to her talk up your talent with complete strangers— all still while wishing Dieter were here bask in the excitement with you. 

“If I could have everyone’s attention please.” The owners ask, the room’s noise quickly reduced to a curbed level. “We thank everyone for coming to show their support for this wonderful event. We’ll have her share more about it with you and then we’d like to say a few words afterwards.” 

Applause breaches the silence as you’re beckoned to the center of the room, your paper of scribbled notes in one hand and Dieter’s chip in the other, making your way to the front of the mass of people. 

You introduce yourself as you take in all the faces, some familiar and some new, Diem and your mom in a side embrace with Wren to the front of them, each person enthralled and eager to hear you share more about you and the art behind you. 

“Art has always been a part of me, in so many different ways. Growing up I would tear apart my mom’s magazines to make collages of pretty pictures, sorry mom.” Glancing down at your paper as a wave of soft laughter filters around, it elicits a surge of excitement and sureness blooms somewhere deep in your soul, deciding to for-go reading anything you had written and just share from the heart. 

“And then I got my first sketchbook, that thing never left my side. Always with me at school, trips to the grocery store and even on days when my mom worked late, I’d sit in the corner of her classroom and just draw— creating little scenes from memory. I filled the pages rather quickly too, pages were barely hanging on with the amount of wear and tear I had put it through. Before I knew it, I had amassed a collection of sketchbooks and canvases over the years. Art has always been a part of who I am and I think it always will be.”

Everyone seemed so fascinated by everything you’re sharing. Explaining the story behind your collection— starting as a literal dream and slowly becoming a now etched on canvas reality. 

Even the collaborative piece with Dieter is hung among the others, you went the extra step to add his name onto the little artist placard:

Artists: Dieter & Poppy

Title: ‘Sweet Creature’

Medium: Acrylic on Canvas

$: (Not For Sale)

“Thank you all for taking the time out of your busy schedules to be here tonight, I appreciate it so very much, I’ll be around the rest of the evening to chat more or answer any questions. And thank you to Reviere Studio, you’ve become like a second home to me. I’m so grateful that I had the opportunity to share my love for the arts with the many who attended my classes in this very space, but also to be the last art showing truly means so much to me. I will miss you all.”

Another round of applause and cheers fill the open space. You feel like it went pretty well for how nervous you were earlier in the evening, not really sure why you were doubting yourself to begin with. 

The crowd slowly starts to disperse as you start to weave to where Diem, your mom and Wren are standing, getting stopped for hugs and hellos from former class attendees, congratulatory remarks for complete strangers too— you’re even shocked when Betty and Marilyn stop to share their well wishes with you. 

“I’m so proud of you sweetheart, it’s all so amazing!” Your mom wraps you in praises and a tight hug. 

“Thank you mom, I’m so happy you could be here!”

“I’m happy to be here too!” Wren’s excitement is barely containable as she bounces off the floor. 

“I’m so happy you’re here too Wren!” You tell her as you bend down to give her a hug as well. 

Standing back to your full height, you turn to Diem and just wrap your arms around her shoulders and hold her close, she returns the same energy. 

“Thank you so much for everything, you are literally the best friend I could have ever asked for. I love you so much Diem!” 

“God dammit, Poppy! I didn’t wear any waterproof mascara because I wasn’t planning on crying tonight! I love you too!” She pulls away and starts fanning her face, drying up the tears that had started to fill her eyes. 

“Excuse me! We have a quick, exciting announcement to make before the evening continues with drinks and appetizers.” The sweet owner Susi’s voice boomed out to the guests. 

*

Dieter doesn’t like lying, not in general at least and especially not to you— open and honest is how he continues to move forward with his life. 

But this doesn’t feel like a lie, in a sense. A secret. A surprise. 

Taking this role meant sacrificing his time away and that terrified him, especially being his first project to jump back into. 

After a call with his agent on the drive back to LA Monday morning and a check in with his sponsor,  Dieter requested a meeting with the movie’s higher ups. 

That meeting didn’t happen until a few days later, but when he found out filming would be held in and around LA, Dieter learned his request for weekends to travel back to Ojai was successful. 

That gave him less than 24 hours to get flowers ordered to be delivered to the gallery, let Diem in on his plan to ensure everything was in motion, all while you had no idea what was happening. 

Dieter settles in the back of the crowd, tucked out of sight, finding it difficult to keep his eyes off you as you stand up there. 

Watching you share about your life and how art has always been a big part of it, the two of you so similar in many ways makes him feel a deeper connection to you. 

He recognizes the paper you’ve started crumpled into your hand, worn and creased from the repetitive folding and unfolding, scarred by the cross-hatching over abandoned words or shelved sentences, bullet points of importance to add substance to your speech. He likes the version you who was pacing around her living room Sunday morning, paper in one hand and pen in the other, reciting each line with a fluctuating ambivalent tone, stopping intermittently at the coffee table to rework a line or add something he had suggested. But he loves this version of you standing before him right now, no hesitation in your words, speaking with certainty and feeling— you were more than prepared. 

The way you wear your confidence stirs something inside of him— trying his best to keep a low profile, because all he wants to do is scoop you up and kiss you breathless, to tell you over and over, how perfect and amazing he thinks you are.

He notices the light catching something you’re intently smoothing your fingers over, tracing repeatedly over every word— It’s not going to be easy, but it’s going to be worth it— engraved on his 1 year chip, a habit he’s welcomed into his daily routine. You had refused to take it from him when he offered it, not wanting him to be without it longer than necessary, but he had vowed to take it back the moment you were reunited. Placing it in your palm, hinting at the streak of luck it had brought him over the past year, ensuring that it would do the same for you— but he knew you wouldn’t need any.

He wants more of this— more time with you. To feel immersed back into this normal paced life and experience the joys that you feel regularly. 

He has to shuffle himself around a bit when the crowd starts to move about, still trying to not be seen, watching you celebrate post speech with your mom, Diem and Wren— eagerly wanting to do the same. 

The gallery owner’s announcement signals the beginning of something exciting. 

He just hopes you’re as ecstatic about what’s about to be revealed as he is. 

*

Susi takes a moment for everyone to quiet down and focus their attention on her before continuing her speech. 

“Earlier this year, we had made the difficult decision to close our doors— deciding it was time to seek out a new chapter with new adventures and close this chapter on Reverie Studio.”

You’re sandwiched between Diem and your mom, hands intertwined as your head rests on Diem’s shoulder, somber as Susi’s heartfelt words about the studio’s closing. 

“But we have some exciting news to share with you all. The gallery and studio are now under new ownership and will continue to stay open. It will be under a new name, but will still retain what Reverie had previously been known for— classes, art openings, studio space. And while we’re sad to hand it over, we’re excited to see it continue to serve the community.”

The delighted commotion pours out into the streets, catching the attention of passersby’s curiosity. 

“So, we welcome you to the new home of Les Coquelicots Studio. The new owner is somewhere here in the audience too.” Heads begin to turn, seeking out where this mysterious owner is, when Susi points towards the back of the room and waves. “Ah, there he is. Please be sure to make him feel welcome and thank him before you leave. Thank you all again for coming and have a wonderful rest of the night.”

Music begins to brim over the conversations that start to pick up, guests dispersing to fill their small plates with finger foods and refilling of drinks, ambling about observing your artwork and surrounding art pieces. 

But you're too focused on the fact that you had no idea that the space wasn’t closing, as you continue turning about scanning the room for the new owner. 

Everything stills. 

No sound. 

No horde of people. 

Just him. 

Dieter Bravo. 

All Dieter-like too, leaning against the back wall, hands secure in his pockets, the slightest tick of his jaw punctuating his dimple. 

Your brain is actively working to re-hardwire your body to function properly, but you’re motionless. Speechless. 

He’s here, propelling himself forward and making his way to you, even as he stands before you, it doesn’t feel real. 

“Surprise.” His voice nearly takes you out, it hasn’t been that long since you had last spoken, but you’ve missed its gravely tone so much. 

“What are you doing here? I thought— I don’t know what I thought because I can’t think straight at the moment. How are you here?” Dizzy with total surprise and confusion. 

He leans in, laughing at your flustered smile, hands slinking their way to your face, his touch charged with fervor as his thumbs sweep over the apples of your cheeks. 

“Came to see my girl.” He smiles softly, his words a breath away from where you want him most. 

You close the distance between you, his lips fitting perfectly against yours, unbothered by the room full of people around you. You knew you would never get that same feeling or experience like with your first kiss, but this is second best and you welcome it fully. 

Before the kiss has a chance to turn into something more than what is appropriate for the setting, you pull away, resting your forehead on his, breathless and happy. 

“It’s you isn’t it— You bought this place?” The answer is clear as you look into his warm eyes. 

“I did.”

“Les Coquelicots? Monet’s painting?” 

“Poppies.” 

This is it. Your forever. With him. Always. 

“I know how much this place means to you, think of it as a thank you— for giving me a chance, for believing in me.” 

“You didn’t have to buy me an art gallery as a thank you, dinner would have been fine.” Your fingers catching the rampant tears streaming down your cheeks, emitting a breathy laugh. 

“We can go to dinner after this then.” His words mumbled in a kiss against your forehead. 

“You still didn’t answer my question— How are you here? What about your movie?” 

“When I found out we would be shooting locally in LA, I told them I had one request— that I was able to go home every weekend if I wasn’t needed on set.” 

“But your home is already there?”

“I’m selling my home in West Hollywood— my realtor is getting it ready to be listed next week, hopefully moved out by the end of the month. So I can move home.” 

It goes without saying that you know what he means, but you want to hear him say it out loud.

“Do you mean here? You’ll be moving here?” 

He nods his head in response.

“What if this place gets too boring for a big movie star like yourself?” Biting your lip with a hint of a smile. 

“Poppy— wherever I go, you bring me home.” 

The kiss is short, but full of a warmth you crave when he’s in your presence, your arms linking around his neck as he pulls flush against, white knuckle grip on your hips— the two you lost in each other as the work around you carries on. 

“Hmm— so, you’re gonna move in with Diem permanently?” 

“Nah, I’ll find some place eventually.” He winks, no real rush to move in together, but he sees it as an option at some point in the future. 

“Well, if you’re over living with your sister, I have a comfortable couch with your name all over it.” You snort at your offer. 

“Poppy, I’m not sleeping on your fucking couch.”

“Suit yourself then.” You mirror his wink before pulling him in for another string of small pecks. 

“I love you, Dieter.”

“I love you too, Poppy”

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[doomednarrative]

top 5 video game romances

Okay so I have to admit, I have not actually played a lot of rpgs or dating sims that had playable romance routes, so I'm going to stretch the definition here a little bit for one of them on this list and we're gonna act like that's a viable answer :)

5. Damien from Dream Daddy. Wow yeah that's a blast from the past but I do have to be honest, I still think of him fondly to this day. A trans single father who dresses like a vampire and has yaoi fanfic on his homes bookshelf while also volunteering at the local animal shelter??? Character made in a fuckin lab for me and I really did enjoy playing his route back when the game dropped <3

4. Hades + Hythlodaeus + Azem from FFXIV. (This is the one I'm stretching for.) Listen, they may not be "canon" by the confines of XIV considering that the game has no actual romance routes, However. There is enough implication within the game and in subsequent side stories that if you want to interpret these three as a triad, you can do so Very easily, and I've done so to the point of actually writing and publishing a fic about them. Safe to say I'm incredibly normal about those ancient beings and their doomed relationship in any form. (My partner actually drew my interpretation of them for my birthday back in 2021 when Endwalker dropped <3)

3. Emmrich and Rook from DAV. Look you know me this is why we're even mutuals lmao. What else do I need to say but I love that we could romance a lich, for as much as I might critique DAV these days I do still hold a soft spot for the boys <3

2. Gale and Tav (and/or Durge) from BG3. Dude when I say I went into BG3 expecting to get obsessed over Astarion (and I did like him) but was then blown away by and became obsessed with Gale instead? Major understatement, that wizard fucked me up so bad I restarted my entire Tav run with Virl just to romance him and I've played their file like three times since lmao. Really really love that wizard so so much <3

And you knew this one was coming:

Hawke and Anders from DA2. I literally do not think I need to explain myself on this one I think the amount I've talked about them on my da blog just speaks for itself for how down bad I am over Anders and his romance route (and you've personally seen my ramblings already enough to know my insanity lmao)

[softly-potter]

White Rose in Bloom Event - Day 1

Day One of Whiterose week🌹Hope y'all enjoy!

@whiterose-fans-blog

Day One: Western AU (Cowgirl and Land Baron)

Word count: 2,626

Warning: injury

-

“It’s not enough.”

“But… that's how much it was last month.”

Rent day is a day Weiss always dreads, the fear of not having enough to cover her farm and land creeping up her spine everyday like a parasite, biting into her nerves and spreading. Her fear is warranted. Land Baron Rose was no laughing matter. 

Every second day of the month, she showed up on her black and white steed, dark red cape on her shoulders with a red fabric covering the majority of her face, demanding payment. Weiss knows it isn't’ really Baron Rose's fault; it’s Ozpins. Head of the Land Barons, if his companies didn’t return with the correct amount, they paid with their life. At least that was the rumors.

“Prices change,” Baron Rose says, shrugging slightly. Weiss can’t see her eyes due to her being saddled on Crescent Rose, the swift horse she was always seen with. “If you can’t pay, you best look extra hard in your sock drawer.”

Weiss swallows thickly. “Please, ma’am I…” She flounders, tries to think of something, anything she can barter with. Glancing around the small area of her home, she rings her hands. “M-my sister is coming. Tomorrow. She has the money. If you… if you wait until tomorrow, I'll have it all.”

Baron Rose’s eyes tighten, and she shifts in her saddle. “You and I both know there's no leeway. You’ve had all month.”

“Markets been slow,” Weiss says, her throat dry. “The herbs and oils haven’t been selling well. My sisters bringing me seeds to try vegetables.”

Baron Rose snorts, looking to the side of the house where Weiss keeps her garden. She’d been to the house enough times to know its layout, and Weiss follows her gaze. 

Beside the vines, a small chicken coop sits with three hens inside, Weiss’ newest purchase. The eggs had been helpful, and she’d been able to make throat-soothing jams with them that she also sold at the market.

“New chickens?” Baron Rose asks and Weiss nods. From her horse, Baron Rose glances back at her. “You should get more than just one. Chickens get lonely.”

Weiss gives her a confused look before turning her head to the coop and finding sure enough, only one hen is settled inside. Weiss feels her blood become chilled and she shakes her head slowly. She can’t afford to lose those hens, they had cost her several vials of ointment and coins; how would she replace them?

“T-they, i-” Weiss says, before Crescent Rose suddenly whines and takes several trotts back. Baron Rose clicks her teeth, tries to calm her animal and it isn't until Crescent Rose raises to her hind legs that Weiss see’s her hens sprinting around the horse. Their feathers and squeaks scare the horse who whines again, rearing up, and Baron Rose curses, pulls on the reins.

 Weiss darts forward, trying to catch the manic chickens but the race from her grasp, looping around the horse that whines and bucks in fear. The Baron yanks on the reins again, but Crescent Rose leaps, darting to the left unexpectedly and the Baron is tipped off.

When she hits the ground, Weiss whines at the sickening crunch that echoes on the dirt farm floor and Baron Rose lets out a scream. Crescent Rose darts forward, kicking up dirt and pebbles as she runs off, her screaming rider long forgotten and Weiss drops to her knees beside her, eyes wide.

“Let me!” Weiss demands as the Baron tries to swat her hands away. With a shaky breath, Weiss leans over the Barons leg and her insides flip. The bottom of the woman's ankle is clearly sprained, the skin already swelling and tightening within the confines of her boot.

“Let's get you inside,” Weiss says, trying to keep her voice gentle. “And get that boot off.”

The Baron scowls, only her eyes visible and they’re laced with pain and frustration. “Fuck off. I need to find Crescent.”

“She always comes back, right?” Weiss tries, and Baron Rose stills. “Well you can’t walk like this. Your ankle’s clearly damaged, and lucky for you I can help. But you have to let me.”

Baron Rose is quiet for a moment before she lets out a soft sigh, and nods. Gritting her teeth, Weiss slips an arm around the girl's waist and slowly helps her stand, taking the brunt of the weight as they slowly enter her cabin.

Placing Baron Rose at the small dining table, she rushes to her med kit, unfolding the leather and carefully selecting her tools. She ties her apron around her waist before shoving her braid over her shoulder and placing the tools in the aprons pocket. When she turns back to the table, she pauses. 

The baron has removed her brimmed hat, revealing dark red hair cropped short. It’s spiky at the edges, and Weiss believes that fits her personality perfectly.

Kneeling, Weiss carefully grabs Baron Rose's leg and places it on the table. The Baron winces but says nothing and Weiss purses her lips. “I’m going to remove the boot and your sock first, to assess the damage. Hopefully it’s just a sprain, and no real break. If it’s a sprain, I'm completely capable of treating you.”

The Baron stays silent and it’s then that Weiss realizes the girl has silver eyes, piercing as they stare.

Swallowing, Weiss grabs a pair of sheers from her apron, and begins to slowly pierce the leather of the boot. She’s careful in her movements, feeling the Baron's eyes on her as she works, and when the boot is shorn on the seam, she’s able to remove it completely without a sound.

Dropping the leather to the floor, Weiss glances up. “This might hurt, just a bit. I’ll be careful.”

Face still mostly covered by her red fabric, the Baron nods once. Inhaling, Weiss cuts the seam of the sock away, and lets out a relieved breath as she slowly rotates the ankle and finds that the bones had not pierced the skin. The ankle itself is swollen, the skin already red and purple and green and Weiss smiles.

“This is good,” she says, glancing at the Baron before looking back at her ankle. “No pierced skin, so no way of infection.”

She wipes her hands on her apron before going to her sink and washing her digits. Opening her cabinet, she explores her options of oil before reaching for a vile, and uncorks the screw. She dabs the contents onto a clean rag and returns to the injured ligament. 

“This is a family recipe,” Weiss says, and she hopes her bedside manners are decent. “It’ll help calm the swelling, so long as we keep it raised.”

“Smells like dandelions.” Baron Rose says and her voice makes Weiss jump.

“Well, it um, contains crushed dandelion petals,” Weiss replies, and begins to lightly dab the rag on the swelled skin. They’re quiet as she works, her movements percisse and eventually, she nods in satisfaction.

“There,” she says, placing a hand on her hip. “Give it a few days and the swelling will drop and we can fit you for a splint while it heals.”

The Baron blinks, her eyes dropping to her propped up foot. “How’d you know?”

Weiss shrugs, rubs her slick hands on her apron. “My mother was a believer in natural remedies.”

“She taught you?” the Baron asks, and Weiss nods.

“Everything I know.”

Baron Rose hums, silver eyes still trained on her ankle and she flexes her toes the smallest bit before raising her hands behind her head, and tugging off the fabric from her face.

Weiss isn’t sure what she was expecting, maybe an ugly scar or yellow teeth, but the face that greets her is anything but ugly. With large cheeks and a button nose, the Baron is… cute. Pretty. 

Her complexion like snowfall that had been caressed with sunset. Weiss realizes she is staring and looks away, dropping her eyes to her hands as she gathers her tools and places them in the sink to be washed.

“How long til I can walk?” The Baron asks, and Weiss shakes her head before dipping her hands into the pail bucket of water.

“Not for several weeks,” she says regretfully. “You’ll need assistance getting back to the main town… I- my sister, she comes tomorrow. She could… take you.”

Weiss washes the tools, keeps her eyes focused as the Baron offers no response. She lays out the damp tools on the counter, allowing for them to air dry and she turns back around, presses her backside to the lip of the sink.

“You can stay here, until she arrives.” Weiss offers, and the Baron frowns, brows furrowing in quiet frustration. 

“I suppose I don't really have a choice,” She scoffs, looking away. “Do I?”

Weiss runs her tongue along her bottom lip and glances outside her window. The sun was in the middle of setting, golden rays stretching across the barren land like fingers and casting shadows that created the spooky stories her mother once used to tell her.

Don’t go out at night, princess. The Grimm come out of their dessert caves when the sun is no longer there to scare them.

Shaking her head, Weiss pushes herself off the sink. “You hungry?”

“No.” the Baron says stiffly, and Weiss rolls her eyes.

“You need to eat,” Weiss counters, pulling a folded sack from her pantry. “Your body needs fuel to heal the hurt appendaged.”

The Baron grunts and Weiss takes that as an answer. She unwraps the sack to reveal a loaf from yesterday's baking, and she cuts a couple of slices before plating it. She adds dried apples before scooping three spoonfuls of corn dodgers and gives the food a satisfied nod. Grabbing both plates, Weiss sets one in front of Baron Rose, and sits quietly beside her, the chair scraping as she sits.

“Thank you.” the Baron says quietly. Weiss pauses before nodding and picking up a corn dodger and taking a bite.

“How's your pain?” She asks, and watches as the Baron picks up an apple slice and place’s it atop the bread, taking a bite. “Sorry I don't have any butter or cheese… I don't have a good cooling system.”

“S’alright,” the Baron answers, chewing slowly. “And the pain is… nothing I can't handle.”

Weiss frowns before she stands and removes a mug from the cupboard. “Give me a moment, just going to fetch more water from the well.”

“What for?” the Baron asks as Weiss opens the door. Weiss nods at her and smiles.

“For tea, Baron Rose.” she replies, and closes the door behind her. 

The expanse of land is nearly dark as Weiss pumps the well lever, glancing around her as she works. She doesn’t necessarily believe in the Grimm, but she does believe in robbers, and to her, those can be worse than the dark creatures of fairy tales.

Water sloshing, Weiss presses into her front door before closing it with the heel of her foot. At the table, Baron Rose has finished most of her plate, her jaw working as she glances up. Measuring out water and herbs, Weiss quietly makes a cup of healing tea, and holds it out. 

“This should help the pain,” Weiss says softly, ignoring the tingle in her hands as the Baron's fingers brush over hers when she takes the mug. “Allow you to sleep and rest.”

Baron Rose nods, and takes a tentative sip. Weiss sits down once more and pops a dried apple slice into her mouth. 

They sit quietly as Baron Rose finishes her tea and Weiss finishes her plate, quickly cleaning up the dishes before she pulls out her extra sleeping blankets. She makes a makeshift bed on the floor beside her own small bed, and holds out a hand to the Baron.

Grimacing, the Baron allows Weiss to help her to the bed, letting out a sharp breath when she sits. She looks at the makeshift bed in confusion before glancing at Weiss' face.

“You take the bed,'' Weiss says, leaning down to grip Baron Rose’s ankle. “You're injured and a guest, it’s only right.”

The Baron opens her mouth to protest but a sound of pain echoes as Weiss places both ankles on the mattress. Falling to her back, the Baron pants in small, agonized breaths.

Standing straight, Weiss tidies the house, the whole while feeling Baron Rose's eyes on her back. She tries to keep herself busy, tries not to feel her stomach flip at the thought of sleeping so close to someone. It had been so long since Weiss had shared a bed, much less a space, with someone who wasn’t family. 

Her brother and sister visit, but Weiss had never truly been lucky in the relationship department. Sure, there had been boys. Her first kiss had been at age twelve with a blonde boy who didn’t even really like her, he just wanted some practice for when he finally got up the nerve to talk to his real crush, a red head with bright green eyes in the grade above them.

 Weiss hadn’t minded; he had been good practice. But it had given her a skill she’d never used, and never thought she would.

Shaking her head, she pushes in the chairs of her dining table, straightening the flowers that adorn it and she hears a cough.

“Are you going to sleep anytime soon?”

Weiss turns, feels the embarrassment seep into her cheeks, and she laughs nervously. “Sorry, I just, hah, neat freak.”

“I see that.” the Baron replies in a low tone and Weiss swallows.

“Do you, um…” Weiss tries, and then blinks hard. “Do you prefer sleeping with candles on or out, Baron Rose?”

Sitting up on her elbow, the Baron cocks her head. “Out.”

Weiss nods and begins to blow out all the candles except one that she grabs. The room is engulfed in mostly darkness, and she haphazardly makes her way to the makeshift bed, settling on her knees and looking over at the Baron's ankle.

“Looks good,” she says softly, almost to herself. “Swelling has definitely stopped.”

“Mmm,” the Baron replies, and Weiss offers her a small smile. “Anything you need before we turn in, Baron?”

Baron Rose gives a muted, half-grin before she shakes her head. “Nah. Got a western magician helping me out.”

Weiss blows out the candle to hide the red in her cheeks and settles down against the blankets. She puts the blown out candle by her pillow before flipping to her back and tugging the covers up around her. “Western cowgirl, actually. I know I don't look it but I actually ride horses as well.”

The Baron chuckles in the dark, the sound breathy. “Oh yeah? Y’know, I could see that actually.”

Weiss giggles, presses her fingertips to her mouth. “Well you are the first, so… Goodnight, Baron Rose.”

The covers are itchy but Weiss doesn’t mind, and makes a mental note that the guest covers need a wash. She pushes some hair out of her face, lets her eyes drift shut.

“It’s Ruby, by the way.”

Weiss blinks, the Baron’s voice bouncing around the darkened cabin like an acorn fallen from its branch. “What?”

There's a few more seconds of silence before her low voice cuts the silence. “My name. My name is Ruby Rose. Not Baron. Barons just… the title.”

“Oh,” Weiss says softly. She tries the name out on her tongue, lets it fold over her tongue and between her teeth. She decides that she likes it, that it fits the girl with red hair in her bed and that it is truly the only name that makes sense. “Goodnight, Ruby.”

“Goodnight Weiss.”

[yoursweetsix66]

Butcher and Kessler’s exclusive guide on how to fuck your friends (pt. 1)

Heyy, so this is just straight up old man porn, but then again this is my blog, what else did you expect me to post? Sorry if this sucks, it was written and beta read in an hour while absolutely baked off my ass. Anyway enjoy ig lmao!

“For a guy grinding his cock against my thigh, you sure talk a lot..” Joe breathed out. They’d been at this for what had to be an hour now; Butcher grinding his hips against Kessler’s, loud grunts and groans filling the dim room. 

“Fuck off.” Butcher growled in Kessler’s ear, leaning in to bite the column of his throat. He left a trail of bites and deep purple bruises up Joe’s neck, gripping his hair roughly as he pulled him in for a sloppy kiss. Butcher wasn’t entirely sure how he’d lasted this long when all he could think about was how good Joe felt under him. The way his thighs tensed every time Butcher bucked his hips, the way his head fell back against the couch cushions and his brow tensed when Billy reached his hand between them to grope Kessler through his slacks, everything was just so good. He wanted to come so badly, but he wanted this feeling to last forever, he wanted to keep himself in this state of constant bliss. He shifted himself in Joe’s lap so he could grind his cock against Kessler’s, trying to get the perfect amount of friction for both of them, and damn he succeeded. Joe practically growled into Butcher’s ear, his hands coming down hard on Billy’s ass, helping him angle his hips just right. Billy slung his arms around Joe’s neck, his own head falling forward at the new sensation. Butcher stayed that way for a short while before the realization of his rapidly approaching orgasm hit him like a train. He reached down, trying to undo the button on his jeans while Joe was still moving his hips.

“The fuck are you doing?” Joe shoved Billy’s hands out of the way, looking accusingly at him. 

“I’m takin’ my clothes off; ‘that a problem?”

“Yes, it’s a fuckin’ problem. I’m not stopping just so you don’t cream your jeans, Butcher. You should’ve thought about that before you started this little game.” Kessler pulled Billy in for another rough kiss, all teeth and tongues. Billy groaned into Joe’s mouth, the intensity of his orgasm sending his mind spiraling. He planted his fingers firmly in Joe’s hair, tugging harshly as his cock twitched and spasmed in the confines of his jeans. “There you go, just like that, Butcher.” Kessler bucked his hips against Billy’s, moaning loudly into Billy’s neck. A few more sharp thrusts upward and Joe’s hips were stuttering against Butcher’s, his breath coming in short bursts as he rode out his intense high. Billy shifted slightly as the wet spot in his jeans became uncomfortable. He pressed his lips to Joe’s, lazily running his hands over his broad chest, feeling it slowly rise and fall. 

“Y’alright?” Joe nodded in response, slipping his hands under the back of Billy’s shirt, feeling over the expanse of warm skin. 

“I need a drink,” Joe tilted his head back, resting it against the back of the couch. Billy stood from Kessler’s lap, his legs wobbling slightly as he walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of liquor. Billy handed the bottle to Joe, who immediately took a long sip from it. “This all you have?” Billy nodded, sitting next to Kessler on the couch. Joe sighed, placing the bottle on the coffee table and standing in front of Butcher. “Come on.”

“Where?” Billy opened his eyes, looking at Kessler. Joe patted his hand on the inside of Butcher’s thigh, urging him to stand.

“A bar, liquor store, I don’t give a shit. As long as they have better booze than you do.” He shot back playfully. Butcher stood, shrugging off his shirt and undoing the button on his jeans. 

“Not goin’ anywhere without a shower.” Butcher’s eyes looked over Kessler’s disheveled form. “Come on, then,” Butcher looked over his shoulder at Joe, who finally got the idea and followed Butcher into the bathroom of the dingy apartment.

[dombottom4subtop]

obsessed with the messaging of this blog, im (rationally) incredibly riteous about people understanding the difference between dom/sub and top/bottom; on tiktok everyone refers to things that are so obviously sub top as "soft dom" and it's ruining my life LMFAO, i'm glad for this refuge and to know other people care 🙏🙏

Allow me to get on my soapbox bc I’ve needed to vent about this for a while:

It’s straight up misogyny and I’m not even slightly exaggerating. The whole concept that “penetration = domination” and how that’s equated with masculinity (+ the inverse “receiving penetration = submission” and how that’s equated with femininity) was born straight from patriarchy and you cannot divorce it from that context.

Bottomphobia (which is rooted in patriarchy, misogyny, homophobia, and femphobia) runs rampant and unchecked within queer kink and BDSM spaces. I am so sick of seeing bottoms being default treated like possessions and objects because of the assumption that there is an inherent link between bottoming and being submissive, AKA “weak and womanly.” I am quite frankly disgusted by the implication that being a bottom somehow makes me inherently more submissive, and whenever I see someone conflating the two, I just block them atp.

And I especially despise the way “bottom” has entered common parlance in place of “sub,” to the point where I’ve seen cishet women describe themselves as bottoms when explaining why they enjoy being submissive… Like, no, bottoming is not just lying there like a dead fish while a dominant masculine manly man penetrates you with his manly dick so you can have your 2.5th child, Deborah, you’re just describing regular-ass boring-as-hell cishet sex between regular-ass boring-as-hell cishet people, do not ever refer to me as “the passive partner” just because I’m a femme bottom again, and quit conflating femininity with submissiveness while you’re at it.

Why did we ever let cishet people misappropriate our terms (and why do I still see some queer people defending it)?

And like, I hate sounding like I’m being judgy about the whole thing because obviously if you’re a feminine woman who finds pleasure and joy in being submissive towards your male partner, that’s totally fine, there’s nothing inherently wrong with that. But the fact that that dynamic is assumed to be the default is patriarchy, whether it works for you or not. Those are the roles patriarchy expects everyone to play and deviation from that is punished.

Patriarchy always makes people’s lives worse by making them feel like their options for what is “allowed” and “acceptable” are extremely limited, regardless of how they actually feel and what they actually want. You can really tell when you read about sex from the perspectives of people who think topping is inherently dominant/bottoming is inherently submissive that they are legitimately too uncreative and confined by their internalized biases to imagine that sex roles may not actually be prescriptive and you can enjoy sex on your own terms however you want.

Bottoming is always framed as “taking” what’s “given,” something that happens to you for someone else’s enjoyment, because, again, it’s rooted in patriarchal misogyny. I honestly think most people would enjoy sex much more than they do if they didn’t feel obligated to play a certain role literally just because they prefer to experience one form of stimulation over the other.

(Not to mention that, as a transfem, the way that pensises are seen as this ultimate tool of domination and masculinity genuinely makes me sick to think about. Like, I’m not even a top and it grosses me tf out. I can’t imagine how girls who like to top and especially girls who like to subtop must feel constantly being told they’re assuming a dominant and masculine role just because they’re *checks notes* using a part of their body in a way that feels physically pleasurable to them.)

Anyway, TL;DR: patriarchy makes everything worse, interrogate your biases and quit treating Domtop/subbottom dynamics like they’re the default

[watchingspnagain]

Rewatching Abandon All Hope

Welcome to “If the Female Character Has Agency In Her Own Death, Does It Still Count as Fridging?: A Supernatural Rewatch Blog” with Lor and Mace!

Up today, s5e10: Abandon All Hope.

Cas tracks down Crowley, and Sam and Dean then go to confront him, hoping to retrieve the Colt. Crowley hands over the Colt on his own, telling the boys he wants Luci dead because he suspects that Luci will kill all the demons. He tells them where to find Luci, and after an evening at Bobby’s, Sam, Dean, Cas, Jo, and Ellen head to Carthage, Missouri, to go devil hunting. Things go awry immediately—the town is deserted, except for dozens of Reapers, who Cas claims only gather in such numbers when a mass death is in the offing. Meg arrives, taunts her some Winchesters, summons some hell hounds, and sends the boys and co. running. Jo gets big maimed, and with Dean consulting with Bobby over a short-wave radio and barely keeping it together, Jo convinces everyone that they need to build a bomb in the hardware store they’re sheltering in and let her stay to blow it up so the others can escape the hell hounds and continue looking for Luci. We get kind of a great and painful death scene for Jo and Ellen, who can’t stand to leave Jo to die on her own, and Sam and Dean take off to find Luci. And find him, they do, and Sam shoots him. The end. Ha! YOU THOUGHT. The Colt can’t kill the devil, silly. Oops. Cas swoops the boys back to Bobby’s, and they all have A Moment over Jo and Ellen.

Below is a log of our real-time reactions as we watched. Remember that there may be spoilers for any part of SPN’s 15-season run here. Note also that the nature of our conversation is adult and thus it may contain adult language and themes.

 [and we begin:]

Mace:

CROWLEY YAAASSSS

Lor:

YAAAAAAAAAS

Lor:

I always forget he doesn't have a beard at the start

Mace:

he is so adorable

Mace:

AND THAT VOICE

Lor:

YES

Mace:

oooh peeping Cas, eh?

Lor:

awwww Cas hiding behind his pillar

Lor:

LOLOLOLOL

Mace:

“its…going…down"

Mace:

HUGGY BEAR

Mace:

OMG

"it's going... down"

Lor:

HUGGY BEAR

Lor:

DEAN

Lor:

"took you long enough" I love him

Mace:

YAS

Lor:

um. Becky told them and she read it in Chuck's book. How's that rumors, Crowley, my love?

Mace:

“you’re functioning…morons"

Mace:

HAHAHAHA

Lor:

"yeah, you're functioning... morons" LOLOLOLOLOL

Mace:

CROWLEY just standing there when Sam tries to shoot him

Mace:

OMG HE’S AMAZING

YAAAAAAS

Mace:

“HOW ABOUT YOU DONT MISS OKAY?! MORONS!"

Mace:

I. LOVE. HIM.

Lor:

I love when he gets all angry

Mace:

YES

Lor:

omg Cas

Lor:

he's adorable

Mace:

YES

Mace:

and Ellen is an idiot for thinking she could drink him under the table

Lor:

"thank you again for your continued support"

Lor:

RIGHT?

Mace:

“since when have we ever done anything smart"

Lor:

"since when have we ever done anything smart"

Lor:

YES

Dean. No.

Lor:

right?

Lor:

I mean, among other things, Cas is RIGHT THERE

Mace:

There’s a perfectly good angel just over there, idiot

Mace:

HAHAHAHA OMG

Lor:

LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

Mace:

But Jo. sleeping with a hot dude on your own terms is not losing self-respect.

Lor:

the look Dean gives Cas. you could try again, hon

Lor:

RIGHT?

Mace:

YES

Lor:

you stick those flip phones out the car windows, boys, you stick em out good

Mace:

HAHAHA

“of course I have" CAAAAAAAS

Mace:

YAS

Lor:

well spotted, Ellen

Mace:

CREEPY AS HELL

Mace:

SNORK

Lor:

YES

Lor:

she annoys me SO HARD

Mace:

AGREED

Mace:

this is what you get when dudebros try to write a strong woman character

Lor:

YYYEP

Lor:

"I came alone" aw Cas

Lor:

"I'm told you came here in an automobile"

Lor:

"slow. confining" hAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA

“what a peculiar thing you are” Gay, Lucifer. The proper term is gay.

Mace:

HAHAHAHA

Lor:

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA YES

Mace:

Oh sweet Dean. That scared face

Lor:

ooooof Dean's face when he realizes it's hellhounds

Lor:

YES

Mace:

YES

Lor:

hellhounds on your trail, boy

Mace:

oh. look out, jo.

Lor:

oh. no. jo. do not get ripped to shreds. oh no

Mace:

should have slept with the hottie hunter when you had the chance, girl.

Lor:

LOL

the best part of this is how it affects Dean and as much I don't care about Jo I HATE that they killed off a female character for the effect it would have on one of the heroes and IT WORKS

Mace:

yeah

Lor:

god this scene bt Bobby and Dean

Mace:

YES

Mace:

“the devil’s in the details, Dean"

Lor:

YES

Lor:

"I've died several times myself"

Mace:

HA

Mace:

poor Dean. he is FRAYED

Lor:

RIGHT?

Lor:

he is so close to falling apart

Mace:

HE IS

Lor:

I could hold him together

Mace:

uhhuh. such a sacrificer, you

Lor:

that's me. always ready to take one for the team

Mace:

indeed

Lor:

god his FACE

Mace:

YES

Lor:

when he gets out of this situation, I will be speaking to him about leaving the “rather” out of the phrase "sooner rather than later"

Mace:

HA

Mace:

DEAN. Her innards are outards. She doesn’t feel like macking right now.

Lor:

RIGHT?

I wish they had left it at the forehead kiss

Mace:

right?!

Mace:

I’m not an Ellen fan either, but I do like the dynamic here of not leaving her daughter but choosing to die with her

Lor:

also that he hadn't tried to sleep with her earlier. it feels out of character (unless he was just looking for comfort and that's the only way he knows how to try to find any. but still. it's Jo. he's not into her)

Lor:

YES

Mace:

(yep)

Mace:

(I’m convinced that these occasional eps in which Dean acts un-Dean-like are all written by the same person)

Lor:

(yeah I wouldn't be surprised)

Mace:

UGH. the fact that Ellen has to experience Jo dying first. GAH

Lor:

RIGHT?

and that it was her refusal to leave her that made this work. bc Jo died before she could have set the bomb off

Mace:

YES

Mace:

they both can’t really believe it would be that easy and you can see it in their faces

Lor:

I love the faces like even they don't believe at first that it was that easy

Lor:

LOLOLOLOL

Mace:

YES

Lor:

ooof Sammy

Mace:

yeah

Mace:

huh. a little Dark Side dialogue there, guys

Lor:

ha!

Mace:

cloud-hopping pansies is such a good insult

Lor:

YES

he just stone-cold throws her over the holy fire and uses her as a bridge daaaaang

Mace:

he can be such a badass when he needs

Lor:

YAAAAAAS

Mace:

why take the commemorative photo if you’re just gonna burn it?

Lor:

i was JUST thinking that!

Mace:

such drama queens

Lor:

...maybe he's afraid their spriits could latch onto it and not move on?

Mace:

huh

Mace:

I’m sticking with drama queens as the reason

Lor:

or maybe someone just thought it was be a cool shot and they needed a bit of business bc otherwise SDandB and just standing there like dopes

Lor:

YES

Mace:

snork

 

[after the episode ended:]

Lor:

so I was just grabbing this convo to dump in a word doc for the post and I was looking at some of our reactions to Cas and Luci talking to each other and I had a thought (I feel like this ought to be obvious but). The behaviours in Cas that read like autism are CAS behaviours, not angel behaviours. none of the other angels are like him. he's the only socially awkward bean who doesn't get sarcasm and takes things literally. that's HIM

Mace:

Oooh, yep, that’s right

[aimfor-theheart]

Act II

|| kaeya alberich x afab!reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort/fluff || wc: 37k || ao3 || masterlist || Act III -> coming soon! ||

When you, a beloved artist and performer of Mondstadt, attract the attention of the Fatui, there is only one person you seek out for help; the infamous Cavalry Captain of the Ordo Favonius, Mondstadt's beloved bastard.

minors and ageless blogs dni, 18+ only

❀ give me a world masterlist ❀

❀ for you are the world (as i am in pieces) - @lorelune ❀

a/n: hello! i am two days late, but here is the second act!! instead of splitting into multiple parts/posts, i just linked the ao3 at the bottom to continue reading! 37k is actually insane of me. i struggled a great deal with this act and it was the source of a lot of frustration but...i am ultimately happy with how it turned out <33 big shout out to my buddies @lorelune who helped me a lot and beta-ed parts, as well as @suguwu who beta-ed and gave me some great feedback on this act, and finally, @acerathia for beta-ing and giving me feedback as well! i am very appreciative of all your help! also please go check out lore's lovely diluc fic linked above as part of this collab!! without further ado, here is act ii! i would love to hear your feedback!! your thoughts!! your predictions! anything! thank you all for reading and i hope you enjoy <3

tags: afab reader (she/her pronouns but is rather gender fluid/binds her chest sometimes and presents both femme and masc), alcohol use, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of stalking/full on stalking from the fatui to the reader, smut, oral (f!receiving), use of "good girl", friends with benefits, somewhat unclear and messy dynamics, mentions of heartbreak/abandonment issues, bodyguard au technically, fake dating au technically, angst, hurt/comfort

SCENE I

Somewhere dark and stone, dripping, and cave-like. Shadows press and shudder and shift. This is an unknown place and sharply different to Mondstadt’s gold and sky. Confined and cold. Each sound should echo softly or loudly, should repeat itself over and over again. 

Kaeya moves with his back to us, slipping among the darkness as if he might belong there. 

Kaeya has spent nearly an entire day attempting to tail one of the Fatui members he knows is keeping tabs on you. There’s three, he believes, and they rotate in shifts, much like he, Diluc, Jean, and Venti rotate being near you. 

For the first time in a long time, he hasn’t spent his entire day with you. Nor the previous. Venti stayed with you in your own home and now you’re with Jean. 

He hates to admit it, but he’s become rather accustomed to watching over you. 

But he needs answers for you, so he’s been running all over the city, searching for their reasoning. 

This is the closest he’s gotten to a new discovery; this ruin beneath the earth, ducking and weaving through an old, stone crypt of some sort. 

He realizes rather quickly it must be some secret meeting place for the Fatui in the city, especially those dealing with the Abyss Order.  

The narrow hall opens up into a larger space where an old desk, piled with papers and maps sits under lantern light. Shadows grow large and spindly on the floor. On the stone walls are photos and torn notebook paper, pinned and plastered together, a collage of secrets. 

Kaeya peers carefully from his hiding spot to get a better look. 

He wants to look at that desk, all the information atop it. He’s certain there must be something there of use, even a greater hint. But he needs this member to leave. 

Kaeya picks up a stone, smooth and cool to the touch. He has to play this carefully. 

There’s an adjacent hallway across this room. It leads to further darkness. And with the Fatui member’s back turned to him, facing the desk, if he can aim well enough, he’ll be able to–

Kaeya throws the stone and watches it sail through the air, finding it’s mark as it clatters into the bend of the wall down the hallway. He flattens himself to his own wall, waiting and listening. 

“Who's there?” The Fatui member calls and Kaeya holds his breath.

“Hello?” Again, before he hears their footsteps stride towards the hallway Kaeya had thrown the stone in and away from him. 

He waits as they retreat, deeper and deeper, echoing softly. 

He knows he won’t have much time now. 

As silently and quickly as possible, he rushes to the desk. His eye flies over all of the papers and maps and scribbling notes. 

Your name jumps out to him. He skims. 

Vision: Pyro 

Strength: Low

Intelligence: High

-Not a fighter

-Use discretion; known and beloved by Mondstadt and other nations. 

Kaeya searches harder, shuffling through the papers a little. 

There’s a ledger with all the places you’d gone, every single day. There are notes about where best to kidnap you and Kaeya’s stomach sours as he reads words like use force. And torture if necessary. 

But what is it they think you know? What would they need to torture out of you? 

He moves another piece of paper, only to catch sight of something that makes his heart stop. 

Your diary. 

There’s no mistaking it. He’d know it anywhere now. 

How do they have this? It should’ve been in his home or safe with you. 

Horror sweeps through him–they don’t–they couldn’t have taken you, could they? 

You’re with Jean, he tries to rationalize. Had you hidden your diary again? Had they found it? 

If you hid it, had you snuck away from Venti or Jean in the last day or so? His mind spins sharply. 

Footsteps echo. 

He’s out of time. 

He disappears down his own hallway, heart ricketing in his chest wildly. If they had you, would you be here? Should he search? Is he being unreasonable? 

He’ll go to Jean first. 

Use force. 

You’ll be with Jean. And if you’re not, Jean will organize a rescue party. He’s found their hideout. 

Torture if necessary. 

Kaeya breaks the surface of the world with a new urgency. The day is melting into evening and the light nearly blinds him a moment as he stumbles out. He doesn’t have time, he breaks into a sprint. His mind flashes hotly, imagines he wish he could never conjure. Images of you tied up, bloody, beaten–

He runs towards the city gates fast and hard. 

Strength: Low 

He shouldn’t have pawned you off on others–he should’ve stayed beside you. This whole time. He should’ve had Diluc look for the Fatui, he shouldn’t have bid you goodbye yesterday. He should’ve checked in with you. 

His ribs ache, his legs burn. He doesn’t stop. 

What was he thinking? You’re practically a sitting duck. He knows this. 

Not a fighter. 

You wouldn’t stand a chance against them. What if Jean is already searching for him because you’ve been taken? He imagines bursting into the city to find her or Venti or Diluc, with some pale look on their face. 

The knights on watch must know something is wrong as he runs beneath the gates–they call after him, but don’t stop him. 

“Where’s Jean?” He barks to the one trying to catch up to him. 

“Headquarters, I think!” 

Kaeya veers sharply for Headquarters. 

He prays he’ll burst through the door and find you there, with Jean. You’ll be pestering her as the sun sets, chirping and flitting around her office while she tries to get paperwork done. You’ll be there, he tries to tell himself, you will be. They must’ve just nicked your diary. 

He throws open the door to Headquarters, rounds the corner and bursts into Jean’s office. Jean is standing on the opposite side of her desk, back facing Kaeya and–

You’re nowhere to be found. 

His stomach drops. 

“Jean,” he says her name sharply, a note of desperation. “Where is she?” 

Jean turns, startled by his appearance, by his urgency, but–

“I left her with Venti. They said they were going to Angel’s Share to perform some songs.” Jean steps towards him, “why? What’s wrong?” 

“They have her diary.” Kaeya gets out, rushing out the door of her office. 

“Kaeya!” She barks after him, but he’s already pushing his way out of Headquarters. He won’t rest, not until he sees you, until you’re right in front of him. “What are you–where was her diary?” 

“I don’t know,” Kaeya snaps, taking stairs two at a time, “I thought it was at my apartment but she’s always hiding it and–” He breaks into another run, heading towards the tavern, “when did you leave her with Venti?” 

“I don’t know,” Jean gets out, keeping pace with him, “a few hours ago, maybe? I had a lot to do–” 

Kaeya curses under his breath. 

“I still don’t know what they want with her but–their notes were about using force. Or–” he can’t get the word out. “They think she knows something.” 

“About what?” 

“I don’t know.” Kaeya bites out. 

He rounds the corner to Angel’s Share sharply and Jean takes it with him. 

“I’m sure she’ll be here with Venti.” Jean gets out, attempting to be calm with him. She’s attempting to be a leader. 

Kaeya throws open the door, gaze flying across the room and–

He doesn’t see you. 

His blood runs cold. 

For once, he wishes it was Diluc at the bar, but it’s Charles. 

“Has Venti been here?” And then he asks for you, too, says your name with a shot voice. 

Charles shakes his head, “haven’t seen either of them at all today. They were supposed to play music tonight, I think–” 

Kaeya doesn’t let him finish. He rushes out. 

He has half a mind to start shouting like a lunatic for you, all over the city, wandering like a mad man with your name a cry on his lips. 

“Maybe they went to her house before–” Jean tries to rationalize, but he can tell she is beginning to fret, too. 

Kaeya is already ahead of her, rushing towards your home on the hill in the city. He can’t help his pace, the run he breaks into again. He tries to think of you throwing open the door, laughing at his worry. Where else would you be? He wants to hear you say. 

But when he pounds on the door, there is no answer. Not a peep. Your little space is quiet. 

“Do you have a key?” Jean asks, but Kaeya doesn’t have the time. 

He takes a step back only to kick in the door easily, letting it fly open on its hinges. 

(He promises he’ll get you a new door, a better one, one that isn’t so flimsy–that could be so easily broken into. He thinks of you asleep here, with a door like that, and his worry grows insurmountably.)

He shouts your name as he enters. 

No answer. 

He storms the place. Your bedroom, your bathroom, all familiar and all so empty. 

“Venti!” Jean calls, and then your own name, too, as she searches. 

Nothing. 

“You know how they are,” Jean tries to rationalize, “they’re always getting up to trouble. They could be anywhere.” 

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Kaeya growls, rushing past her and back out the door. He’s beginning to panic. He can feel the tendrils of it creep up his chest, wrapping like vines around his poor throat. His head is growing foggy, warped with his fear. All he can see is you being dragged away. 

Use force. 

His mind feels hot, too sharp. 

Torture if necessary. 

“Kaeya,” Jean barks his name, rushing to catch up to him. 

Her voice is a balm, he wants–she should–

“I’ll try to get ahold of Diluc and send word out to search the city for her.” Jean says and her voice is filled with authority now, level-headed and steady, “where else would she be?” 

“I’m going to my apartment.” Kaeya says, mind narrowing, “in case she’s–I don’t know–” 

“Go,” Jean agrees, a command, “and if she’s not there, keep searching–you know her hiding spots now.” 

Kaeya nods dazedly. 

Jean grabs him roughly, on the arm, jerking him to face her. One hand coming down on his shoulder. 

“We’ll find her.” She promises and she dips her head a little to force him to meet her eyes. They’re all stone and determination. The eyes of a leader. “Do you hear me, Captain?” 

Kaeya nods, more assuredly now, “yes,” he agrees, finding his voice, her eyes. 

She shoves him a little, a push to go, “I’ll reconvene with you shortly. Stay sharp.” 

Kaeya doesn’t need another moment; he picks his eyes up to catch the city skyline of Mondstadt, of his apartment in the distance. He breaks into a sprint. He tries to focus only on his breath, on the way his feet carry him swiftly, weaving in and around the city. 

He tries to force away what he’d seen. 

He bounds for his home, feels his heart and fear ratchet up inside of himself. He’s imagining his home empty. 

He’s imagining you gone. 

He’s imagining the door shut tight and locked, how he’d left it, and you’re nowhere to be found. A cold space. An empty space. 

He takes the stairs two at a time, he tries the door and it–it’s locked still. 

He doesn’t pray. He’s not a religious man. And that stupid Archon–

Is sitting perched on his kitchen counter, overlooking the living room.

“Ssh,” Venti hisses, finger to his lips, as he points to his couch. The one Kaeya has slept on nearly every night since this whole ordeal started. The one you are currently occupying, curled up beneath the blanket he usually uses, sleeping soundly.

Or, you were. 

You blink awake, slow, confused. 

Kaeya rushes to your side. 

He kneels. 

The door is left ajar. 

“You’re here,” he gets out, winded, rough. 

“Kaeya?” Your voice is so small and confused. 

Without thinking, he brushes a strand of hair from your face as gently as he can, hands shaking. He’s still panting, chest still heaving. But–

“I’m here.” He says then, astonished, relieved. 

He wants to pull you off the couch and into his arms. He wants to hold you. He wants to collapse on top of you. 

He falls back onto his bottom, breathing hard, all his fear leaking out of him swiftly. “Oh, you’re here.” He says again, voice breaking, as if to assure himself. 

You sit up, eyes pricking with concern, “what’s wrong?” you murmur, “where else would I be?” 

Kaeya can’t even speak yet, but he laughs, delirious, out of breath. 

“No where.” He says, “I thought–you were–” 

“She was trying to nap,” Venti finally speaks up and his eyes are far too keen. “Before our performance tonight.” 

Kaeya looks at him. Venti looks back. 

The door is open. 

He heaves out a rough breath. He hangs his head between his shoulders. He tries to calm himself. 

“I need to tell Jean to call off–” he laughs, “oh, Diluc is going to lose his mind.” 

“Call off what?” You ask.

“Your search party.” Kaeya finally can get out. Your face brightens to shock. 

“My search party? Kaeya–”

“Venti, why don’t you find Jean and tell her where you’ve been? Before the whole city turns upside down looking for her.” Kaeya then says. He won’t look at him but he can feel Venti’s eyes on him.

But then Venti laughs, and chirps, “aye, Captain!” 

And he flits out of Kaeya’s home. 

Venti shuts the door behind him and seals you away with him. Kaeya exhales roughly again, elbows resting on his knees. 

“Are you okay?” You ask for a second time, so sweetly. So sincerely. You lean towards him like you want to touch him. 

And he wants to say, I was scared. He wants to say, I was terrified of losing you. I could’ve torn the whole city apart looking for you. He wants to say, I’m so relieved to see you. Hold me. Let me hold you. 

Instead, all he says is, “they had your diary. And I thought–” 

The door is shut tightly. 

“Oh,” you breathe, “I left it at home, the last time we–” 

“They must’ve broken in.” He agrees softly. And then he looks rather sheepish. 

“What?” You ask, as if you know. 

“I broke in. I owe you a new door.” 

“Kaeya!” You scold, “why did you–why were you so–?!”

“Jean and I thought you were kidnapped!” Kaeya defends himself.

“Kaeya–” 

“We were searching for you. Since you weren’t in any of the places you were supposed to be.” He begins to scold. 

“Kaeya,” 

“Didn’t I leave you with Jean? You should’ve stayed with her.” 

You suddenly launch forward, arms wrapping around his neck, falling from the couch and onto his body. His breath is almost knocked out of his lungs for the millionth time today because of you and surprise colors his face. Raises his brows. 

You hug him tight, face pressing to the crook of his neck, a bundle in his lap. 

“I’m okay,” you murmur, “I’m right here.” 

His arms, which had come up in surprise, finally settle over you. They wrap all the way around your shoulders, your middle, pull you closer, and he’s sure his heart is such a mess in his chest. He’s sure it sounds like a disaster. 

But you press harder into him, fingers digging into his muscles. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you say, and then your voice tilts upwards playfully, “didn’t think you’d really send the cavalry just because–” 

He pinches your side. 

“I had reason to believe–!” 

You start to laugh, into his throat. You shift to pull away and he wants to keep you there, he wants to hold fast to you and not let go. He wants to cling to you. But he lets you move away to look at his face once more. 

You look at him in a way that just makes him feel naked. He wants to hide. He wants to say something clever. 

“Thank you,” you suddenly say. 

“For what?” Kaeya laughs, “causing a ruckus? Waking you from your nap?” 

“For coming for me.” You cut him off. “I feel safe with you and this just proves that–” 

Kaeya slackens a little, perhaps surprised or unsure or–you always leave him wobbly and uncertain. You always disarm him so swiftly, so viciously. 

“Of course I’d come for you.” Kaeya says and he does mean it. He softens it’s truth with, “it’s my duty.” 

But that night, you don’t ask him to sit beside you as you fall asleep–he does so anyway. You don’t say a word, except to ask him for another bedtime story playfully, except to hear him speak, as you always do when he stays with you. 

You didn’t ask but he needed to. 

It’s not his duty, but he wanted to.

He can’t imagine not watching you drift off to sleep tonight, of all nights, when he thought he’d lost you. 

He watches you sleep soundly in his bed, back rising and falling as you curl around one of his pillows, cheek endearingly squished against it. He doesn’t sleep. 

The door is locked tight. 

And even though it's not his duty, he watches over you, anyway.

***

SCENE II

On the docks of Cider Lake in the early afternoon sun. Venti is perched beside you, plucking lazily at a lyre. Your feet dangle off the dock, swinging like a child. The sky is endlessly blue. Clouds are like sleeping rabbits in the sky. The wind kisses you. 

“I feel their eyes most when I’m with you.” You say suddenly, glancing at your companion out of the corner of your eyes. 

A note strums from Venti’s fingers. He hums lightly. 

“Not sure what the Fatui would want with a measly bard.” Venti shrugs, “maybe they think I’m the weakest of your guards.” 

“Maybe,” you say, but you don’t believe that. You don’t believe it because–well, because you noticed them following him first. At first, you weren’t quite sure and you had mentioned it to Venti, but he’d shrugged you off. 

Breezy as ever. He’d pretend there was nothing to worry about. 

You turn towards him and look at him before you murmur, low enough that any ears listening would only catch the sound of the gently lapping water, “why were the Fatui following you?” 

“I believe I’m supposed to ask that of you,” Venti replies with a smile but you can tell, there’s a chipping like a porcelain teacup losing a piece of its lip. 

“I wasn’t sure at first,” you tell him softly, eyes glancing out over the calm lake, “but then I caught them intercepting letters and messages of yours. I caught them in the belltower and I knew.” 

The belltower in the cathedral was a place Venti had shown you early in your return to Mondstadt. He’d told you it’d been a place that he came to play music, to look out at the world below. A secret place for him, now for you; a gift, he’d said. Places are a gift to give the people you love and secrets are, too. 

Then you’d caught a Fatui member snooping through the hidden items Venti had left there; music sheets, maps the two of you had crudely drawn, and old clues to scavenger hunts long past. 

The two of you had always liked sending the other all over Mondstadt; it’s why you hide your diary. He hides new songs he wants you to learn. You’d leave clues, games to play, puzzles to solve for each other. 

Venti plucks out a few, odd notes on his lyre. Goosebumps erupt over your skin.

“You don’t think I have dealings with them, do you?” Venti asks queerly. There’s a funny sound to his voice. 

You shake your head quickly, “Archons, no.” And then you tilt your head, “but I did what I do best.” 

A wrong note. It rings discordant in the air. 

Venti looks at you. 

“You didn’t.” He almost begs, but he knows. 

“Of course I did.” You respond and Venti looks genuinely distraught. So you add, “nothing terrible–but I wrote you false letters. I led them on a goose chase a little, like I always do when the Fatui gets too close or comfortable in Mondstadt.” 

Venti shakes his head, “you shouldn’t have meddled here.”

“They’re looking for something of yours, aren’t they?” You ask slowly. 

Venti, for once, is quiet. The wind catches on your clothes in a burst. It’s confirmation enough. 

“So I sent them all over Mondstadt with puzzles and clues and fake letters.” You said, “and really, I thought it was harmless but–” 

“Did you tell this to Kaeya?” Venti asks.

“Not specifically this. I always toy with the Fatui when I can, though, he knows that.” 

Venti shakes his head slightly, fingers digging into the wood of his instrument, “and with all the hiding places and riddles between us, I’m sure they–” Venti stands abruptly, “I need to speak to Kaeya.” 

You stand with him suddenly, “why? What for?”

Venti frowns at you and it’s an expression you hardly ever see him wear. 

So you press tenderly, “what are they looking for, Venti?” 

“You’re such trouble,” Venti replies and his voice catches with emotion; he doesn’t  mean it meanly, in fact it’s–well, it’s fond. Mournful, almost. The wind rushes past the two of you, stronger now. Water laps at the docks. 

“Give me a clue.” You try to charm him but it sounds more like a plea. “Like always. I’ll figure it out and you won’t ever have to say it outloud, if you’re that scared.” 

Your heart feels like a brewing storm in your chest. Venti has never hidden things so openly from you. It frightens you. 

But Venti shakes his head for once, small and soft. “Not this time, my friend.” 

“Venti–” 

He suddenly looks away, down towards the other side of the dock, where the cobblestone of the street meets the wood. Kaeya is standing there, waiting to relieve Venti and walk with you to Springvale for rehearsal. The gold of his coat glints in the afternoon sun. He looks like a knight. 

He waits for you. 

“You have rehearsal,” Venti says, and his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “go.” 

“Please, will you tell me?” You ask again. You swallow hard around sudden tears; stupid and silly but–aching. You can’t name why you feel like crying, only that you can tell something far larger is on the horizon. 

It hangs like a storm. 

You can feel its pressure, now more than ever. 

Tell me, you want to beg him, you want to sing, you want to scream. Let me help you, let me in. 

Venti looks at you with love and affection and sadness. He looks at you with a heaviness you can’t name, but can taste. It’s ancient. It’s otherworldly. You want to hold him. You want to hide him from the world. 

“Not yet,” he replies. 

“Why not?” Your voice breaks as easily and fragile as a bird’s wing. 

Venti smiles sadly, “because if you knew, you’d put yourself in even more danger than you already have for me.” 

You open your mouth, but he continues;

“And this isn’t your battle.” He turns away, eyes glassy, but waves at Kaeya, as if nothing is wrong. He smiles at you, watery and fond. 

“Besides, you’ve never been much of a fighter in the first place.” 

***

SCENE III

In the living room of Kaeya’s apartment. Soft, evening blue light through the windows. Hazy, dark shadows. You’re curled up on the couch, legs tucked up underneath you, with a cup of tea held in your palms. You’re ready for bed. Kaeya enters from his office with a stack of letters and papers; what the audience can see of his face is that he’s somber for once. He casts the greater shadow.

“Will you tell me again why you thought it was a good idea to toy with the Fatui?” Kaeya asks and in his hand, he has only some of the letters and maps and sheet music that you’d been leaving for Venti. 

Or, the Fatui. Since you knew they were rifling through Venti’s things. 

“I always toy with them.” You reply simply, taking a slow, burning sip of tea. It’s chamomile and rose. A hint of cinnamon. Kaeya prepared it for you before disappearing to do some work in his office. You swallow. “And I never said it was a good idea.” 

“Then why do it?” 

“Why are they following Venti? What are they looking for?” 

Kaeya lets out a sharp breath, perhaps growing impatient. “I don’t know. Right now, I need to know why they think they need you to find it, though.” 

“Well, I made it seem like I had whatever they’re looking for.” 

You watch Kaeya freeze for a moment and if you weren’t so intuitive and just a little wittier, you’d make some sort of joke about cryo and freezing in place. 

“Why?” He demands suddenly. 

“I wanted to get them off Venti’s back.” You say, “this is what I do when the Fatui get too close to the people I know. This is what I do when the Fatui think they can stick their hands in Mondstadt. Someone has to teach them a lesson.” You take another little sip of your tea, and then add, “and I don’t have a sword–my weapon is my pen. My voice. My wit.” 

Kaeya shakes his head, “you don’t even know what you’ve gotten yourself into.” 

You gesture smoothly, “then enlighten me.”

“This is bigger than you, do you understand that?” Kaeya then says and you don’t think you’ve ever heard him quite so stern. 

His face is shadowed. It’s growing darker. 

“Sure,” you say easily, “that’s why I had to intervene.” 

“I don’t think you actually understand.” Kaeya says and his voice has grown more serious, imperative, a little lower. 

“I’m not an idiot,” you snip, “clearly! Since I’ve managed to fool the Fatui and send them running all over Mondstadt.” You can feel your hackles rise a little, heat swimming in your chest, up your neck. “And most importantly, away from Venti–since he’s got some huge secret that no one will tell me!” 

Kaeya moves suddenly to sit on the coffee table in front of the sofa you’re on. Your knees nearly brush. He splays out your letters and music sheets and maps. “Why didn’t you come to me before doing all of this? Before involving yourself?” 

“Because I always mess with the Fatui!” Your voice raises and you finally move to set the tea cup beside him on the coffee table. “I didn’t think it was any different than any of the other times!” 

“The Fatui aren’t just–” Kaeya gestures, papers crinkling beneath his grip that has grown tighter with his own frustration. “–some band of half-wit politicians or merchants for you to toy with! They’re dangerous.” 

This quiets you for a moment. And then, “so? A lot of things are dangerou–” 

“So?” Kaeya repeats, “so?! You’re not even–” he laughs, but the sound is scraping and hollow, off-kilter. It’s disbelief, almost a scoff, “you’re not even a fighter. You’re not a Knight or a warrior. You’re not even an adventurer of some kind.” 

Silence stretches between the two of you. 

“Can you ever trust my own judgment and intuition? I have made it this far–” 

“But you’re reckless.” Kaeya says, “specifically, you’re reckless with yourself. You know the Fatui are dangerous–it’s why you’re worried about Venti, right? It’s why you intervened.” Kaeya says and then his voice gentles, “so why don’t you have the same concern for yourself?” 

You feel your jaw lock. It ticks. 

You look away from him defiantly, out towards one of the windows, blue with the evergrowing night sky. 

It strikes a strange note inside of you. You have concern for yourself, you want to say, you came to him, didn’t you? Eventually. 

But it doesn’t negate what you did, which was reckless. He’s right; you could’ve turned to him immediately, you could’ve gone to Diluc or Jean or him. But instead, you tried to distract the Fatui; you tried to dance and sing and entice them onto the path you’re on, instead of the one Venti is on.

You gave them a performance. And now, with all their eyes set on you, like the hungry, vying eyes of an audience, a predator, you are in danger. 

“This isn’t a game anymore. This isn’t funny or—or breezy. You’ve gotten yourself into real danger, do you understand?” Kaeya then says and you can tell he’s trying to get you to look at him again. 

“I have you and Jean and Diluc to—“

“But your recklessness got us all here. You rush head first into—into everything, without regard for yourself.” Kaeya continues. “You’re an open book. You wear your heart on your sleeve—it’s like you have no self preservation whatsoever.” 

You sit in silence. You cross your arms over your chest and you feel a hard, little ache in the pit of your throat.

He’s chipping away at something inside of you, something already too tender to take the beating. 

“It’s not a bad thing to be open.” You say and your voice is tight, thicker than it should be. 

“No,” he agrees, “but you have no regard for yourself and all of it for everyone else.” 

Tears prick your eyes, much to your dismay. 

You know the reason. You can feel it, somewhere in the back of your mouth, down where your throat is tight. 

You can’t lose Venti. 

Venti could lose you, you’ve decided. The world could lose you. But you are so terrified of loss and really–you must’ve been easy to leave if–

If it could be done so effortlessly. 

(You think of yourself as a child and your father setting you down for the last time. You think of yourself at an altar, forever waiting, the way you waited for your father your whole life.) 

Venti can lose you. 

But you can’t lose Venti. 

You hope that maybe if you give enough of yourself to the world, it will need you bad enough to never lose. You think one day, it’ll fill the empty, aching wound inside of you that has been just left to dry out. Crack and splinter. 

Sometimes, you think if you scare someone bad enough, they’ll look at you and say they can’t lose you. You think maybe if you scare yourself bad enough, you’ll finally look at yourself and say I can’t lose you. 

“Don’t cry,” Kaeya hushes softly and you wipe quickly at the tear that has freed itself to slip down the slope of your cheek. 

It makes you want to cry harder, for some reason, for him to be so tender now. 

He sets the papers down beside you on the couch finally. He reaches out and touches your knee, broad palm surprisingly warm, as he rubs a gentle pass with his thumb. 

“Why are you crying?” Kaeya then asks, coaxing, gentle.

You sniff hard. 

You dig a little, you search for the answer. Is it because you’re careless with yourself? Is it because you’re scared now? Is it because he pointed it out at all—that he noticed enough, saw through you enough, to finally say it? 

Is it because—

“I worry about you.” He says when you don’t answer him. 

—you’re worth fretting over?

You shake your head a little, perhaps in an attempt to disagree with him, perhaps in an attempt to reassure him. But nothing comes out except another few tears. 

You try to keep the sob back, the noise trapped with the reason in the back of your throat. You fear what will come out. 

“I’m sorry,” you manage to whisper and when you finally turn to face him, he’s right there, and for a moment, you think he might move further to hold you. You think you might just slide into his arms. 

You hold your breath. 

You think he holds his, too. 

“I don’t need an apology.” Kaeya finally murmurs and he doesn’t fold you into his arms, but he turns up his hand on your knee carefully. His palm, an offering. “I just need you to be more careful.” 

Slowly, you slide your hand into his. 

You’ve held his hand plenty now, know the rough scrape of his calluses against your own, but it has never quite felt like this.

Real. Weighted. 

He folds his fingers between yours gently. Your hands lock together, woven, knuckle over knuckle. Palm to palm. 

You’re both watching your hands, enamored, maybe terrified. 

You cling to him in a way you haven’t clung to someone in a long, long time. 

You think you’ve tried to hold onto everything like this; with too much force, gripped in your rebellious fist. You think everything you’ve ever held must’ve been crumpled and ruined from your grasp, you think everything must have the indents of your fingers permanently etched there. 

You want to squeeze, you want to bear down on his hands like a dog who finally caught a bird. 

“Can you promise me that?” Kaeya prompts gently when he doesn’t receive a response from you. 

You glance up at his searching face, the way he’s watching you carefully, scouring to see any flicker of emotion. 

You nod a little, jerky, unsure. 

“Will you say it for me?” He murmurs and dips his head a little to keep your straying gaze. 

You swallow hard around the lump in your throat, tight and hard. 

You feel your eyes fill with tears again. 

But still, you manage to croak, “I’ll try to be more careful.” 

You can tell the response displeases him somewhat; you can tell he wants more. But anything more right now, may feel like a lie. 

And you’re no good at that. 

“Okay,” Kaeya agrees, “thank you.” And then he adds with a gentle lilt, “I’m sorry for making you cry.” 

You laugh a little through your tears, “it’s okay–” you mumble, letting your eyes fall back to your intertwined hands. “I probably needed to hear it.” 

His thumb makes a slow, comforting pass over the back of your hand. 

For a moment, the space fills with silence. 

You watch the careful sweep of his thumb, you watch the flex of his  hand, the veins against his wrist. You can feel the room fill with something more, a growing of a feeling, stretching amongst your ribs. Perhaps amongst his. You think there is something blooming inside of him, something he’s terrified of, something you’ll always long for. 

(If you could feel his pulse in his wrist, it would be jumping, picking up in a fierce little tempo.) 

He’s tenser now, you realize. His breath is caught somewhere in his chest, like he might speak again. 

You wait for him. 

He opens his mouth. 

But then after a moment, he closes it. 

You pick your head up to examine his face, to try and discern what it is he wants to say now. 

And mostly, it’s a mask of causality. 

(His trembling heart is the only thing that gives him away now.)

Maybe, the depth of his eye, or maybe it’s only a trick of the light. 

You want to say, what is it? Or prompt him for more. You want him to speak what is so clearly on the very tip of his tongue. 

Tell me, you want to say, tell me what seems to scare you so badly. 

“I–” he starts. He stops. 

And then neither of you speak and the tension stretches and something inside you grows. You cling to him harder without realizing it, as if anticipating the way he’ll pull away. You don’t want him to go. You can feel it, your heart unfurling for him, you can feel the way he holds you, too. 

In the same way that you hold him. 

You hope he leaves indents in your skin. You hope he never lets go. 

“Yes?” You prompt gently. 

But then he clears his throat and glances away. 

The spell is broken and he forces his hands to loosen from his own hold on you. He forces himself to recede and to calm his heart. You watch as he mentally pulls away from you. You force yourself not to cling harder to him, to catch his hand and hold it close to yourself, to pull him closer to you. 

He says, “Mondstadt cares very deeply for you–and you for Mondstadt. I only wish–” he draws in a small breath, “that you’d afford yourself the same care.” 

You wonder what he was going to say instead. You know this is not his original thought, but the secondary, more distant one. You almost want to ask him, you want to needle and beg, but you know Kaeya well now. 

You know he doesn’t say anything he hasn’t carefully thought about or that he doesn’t want you to hear. 

Still, it manages to make you soften, to make tears press again behind your eyes. 

You turn to tuck your face into your shoulder, like it may stop him from seeing you cry. You squeeze his hand like a lifeline. 

“Oh, look what I’ve done now.” He says and his voice is light–he’s teasing you gently, holding you tighter again as you laugh now and sniffle, fingers still digging deep into his hand. 

“I’m sorry–” you mumble, “Am I hurting you?”

You loosen your grip on his hand. 

“I’ve been through far worse,” he soothes, running his thumb back over the dips and plains of your hand. 

You try to keep yourself from bursting into heavier, harder tears. You can’t even quite name why; your care for him, or his for you. The fact that he won’t name it, or because you’re scared he’ll leave if you do. 

You’re nearly trembling with it; you’re afraid he’ll say one more word, one more phrase and you’ll simply fall to pieces.

You don’t know what it is about care; but when someone is gentle with you, it makes you feel as if they’ve torn you to shreds. It turns you inside out. It turns you into a child again, desperately seeking it out. It feels foolish now sometimes, over dramatic.

But Kaeya holds your hand and you take deep, shuddering breaths until you don’t feel as if you’re going to bawl your eyes out anymore. 

You don’t want to stop clinging to his hand, though. 

“I should get to bed,” you finally say, if only for him, if only to give him an out because it’s easier than if he finds it himself. You’re too fragile for him to pull away first tonight.

So you slip from his grasp and stand. Your legs feel a little wobbly, unsure of yourself. He looks up at you, from beneath the fan of his dark lashes. You swallow hard, around the tears, around whatever it is he makes you feel. 

You can still feel the pressure in your hand, the way his fingers feel against yours. 

Again, he looks as if he wants to say something. 

You wait, expectant. 

And again, he lets it fall. 

Instead, he says, “yes–it's another early morning. I’ll let you sleep.” 

He stands now, too, collecting the papers, gathering them into his hands carefully. All of your wit and love and craft. All of your recklessness in the palm of his hand.

“I’m going to stay up a little longer,” he says then, “if you need anything.” 

Now it's your turn to look up at him. 

And there must be something too raw, too sincere in your eyes, because he can’t look for long. 

“Kaeya,” you want to draw his gaze back to yours, but he doesn't quite reach your eyes. Still, you need to say, “thank you.” 

“For scolding you?” He asks, light, too light. He tries to create distance. Coldness. 

“For caring about me.” 

He swallows. He doesn’t confirm or deny it. But he looks guilty, a man held back, everything carefully in place. Not a word misspoken, not a look out of place. Sometimes, you have the urge to destroy that veneer. Sometimes, you want to know what he looks like without all his thoughtfully placed appearances. 

You wonder if you will ever see him like that. You wonder if he will ever tell you more; if he will ever let you in. 

You think maybe you will stay like this forever, close to him, but not too close. 

With care, but without it spoken. Always in the blue dark and never in the dawn. 

He clears his throat, “it’s my job to look out for you.” 

Your heart falls a little, sharp, like a plummeting note, a tight draw of the strings of a discordant chord. You swallow around the lump in your throat. 

“Yes,” you agree distantly, nodding your head, “I suppose it is.” 

“I’ll be in the office.” He says because he must slip away from you now. You think when he gets too close, he grows scared of being burned. 

He closes the door behind him.

You watch it for a moment, steady. 

You wonder if it’ll stay like this forever; always on the other side of the door. 

When you go to sleep that night, you leave the bedroom door ajar, as if to prove something. 

But in the morning, you find it shut tight. 

At rehearsal, you’re somewhere else, off in your mind. Though you say your lines, you feel as if you miss them, like they’re coming out automatically, half-hearted. 

And the only ones that rings true, that resonates throughout the stage is one you’d previously thrown away;

“Hold on tight–don’t let go.” 

This time, your voice cracks with it, breaks over the don’t. 

That night, Kaeya presents you with a bouquet of flowers; a show in front of the world. 

And when he brushes his knuckles against yours, you eagerly slip your hand into his as you walk home. 

You don’t even care that it’s for the world and no longer for you.

You are, if nothing else, a good actor (or of foolish heart);

So you pretend it’s real, with the flowers he gave you nestled into the crook of your elbow, and his hand curled around yours. You pretend that you are walking home with your love, and the sun is setting, and you are filled to the brim. 

You laugh as if that’s the case. You lean into him as if that’s the case. 

You knock into him as you walk, desperate to be close, to feel his side against yours. You are desperate to have more of him; all his attention, all his affection. 

To not feel like a world away–or like there’s a door between you, one that you don’t know if he’ll ever open or not. 

***

PRELUDE TO SCENE IV

Springvale in the afternoon, the sun warm and bright; it makes everything sparkle, almost radiant. The grass seems lush and full, the lake is shimmering. 

Klee eats cut fruit happily beside you at a picnic table. You steal a piece or two from time to time. Kaeya sits across from you and Klee, his back to the audience.

“Are you and Kaeya boyfriend and girlfriend?” Klee suddenly asks around a burst of valberries. 

Despite everything, you feel your heart tick up in a strange, sharp tempo. 

Your eyes fly to Kaeya, who's already looking at you. 

You share a silent conversation with each other and a series of increasingly dramatic expressions;

What should we tell her? 

The truth? 

What? No! 

Then you tell her–

“Yes,” Kaeya finally says, “we are boyfriend and girlfriend.” 

Klee picks her head up, perhaps surprised at his answer. “You’re dating?!” She asks, louder now and you can’t help but laugh. 

“Yes,” Kaeya lies, perhaps for any eavesdroppers, “we’re dating, Klee.” 

She looks between the two of you. 

“Miss Jean said you’re in love with each other.” Klee says casually and that makes both of you freeze momentarily. 

You feel heat rush into the high points of your face. Your mind whirls, spins into overthinking. Why would Jean say this? To keep your covers? A kinder way to say it to a child? 

For a moment, you fear Jean knows a part of your heart that you fully haven’t gotten to know yet yourself. 

You fear there is some truth to it. 

(Perhaps love is too strong of a word but—)

You adore Kaeya. 

You have your whole life, you think, from when you were young and chasing after them with childlike, outstretched hands, to adulthood, where you have always held respect for him and now—

Something more, perhaps, after all your time with him. 

How could you not? What chance did you have against him, anyways? 

(You hope he doesn’t dare read your diary again. 

You suddenly worry that Jean has instead.) 

You’re almost fearful to catch Kaeya’s gaze, you swallow hard, but force yourself to. And when you do, you realize he’s–

Amused. Near laughing.

That absolute bas— 

You kick him underneath the table and he yelps a little. You hide your snicker behind a hand against your mouth. 

“We care about each other very much.” You tell Klee, sobering. 

“Are you gonna get married?” She asks then, just as casually, around another piece of fruit. 

Kaeya makes a noise of surprise, “married?” He asks Klee, “where are these questions coming from?” 

“I thought if you’re boyfriend and girlfriend, then you get married.” Klee responds. 

“Sometimes,” you agree, nudging the bowl of fruit closer to her little hands so that she can reach the last few pieces better. “But right now we’re just boyfriend and girlfriend.” 

Klee hums around her berry. 

And then she looks up at you, “do you guys kiss?” 

The word kiss is punctuated with disgust, almost sick curiosity; as if she might not be able to believe it. 

It makes you choke, then stutter into a laugh. Kaeya laughs as well, full and surprised. 

“People who are dating do tend to kiss, Klee, so yes.” He says, amused with her. He catches your eye across the table. You swallow hard with the way he gazes at you, infinitely pleased and laid back, deeply amused. By you or Klee, you’re not sure. Still, you can’t help the smile that touches your lips, perhaps just as entertained, perhaps a little rueful. 

“Gross,” she declares. And then she looks at Kaeya, “do you think she’s pretty?” 

You look at Kaeya expectantly, propping your chin in your hands, and sing, “yes, Kaeya, do you think I’m pretty?” 

He smirks, leaning back in his seat a little, and a fissure of heat rips through you. You bat your lashes for him. 

“I think you’re beautiful, darling.” Kaeya croons, sweet as ever, and enough to make you damn near melt. 

You can feel heat in your face, despite it all. You feel like a teenager. You feel like a girl with a crush, a boy with his love in front of him, and not a clue what to do. Bumbling and suddenly young, graceless. 

A pang hits you squarely in the chest; you wish this was real. You wish he was being honest. 

Klee squeals in embarrassment or surprise. “You’re going to get cooties!” She tells you. 

You use her as a distraction, leaning down a little to conspire with her, “Kaeya does have cooties.” You agree in a faux-whisper. “But I have the antidote.” 

“You do?” Klee asks, “what is it?”

“Its a secret recipe,” you begin, putting on a good show of trying to come up with the ingredients, “but it certainly starts with the essence of butterflies.” You glance over at the field behind you, which you know is teeming with butterflies.

You used to chase them here in your youth until the sun set and the fireflies sparked to life in the evening dark. And then you chased their soft, blinking lights until the other kids were called home. And it was just you and the rolling fields and endless night skies and bumbling bugs. You’d try to carry one home with you so you wouldn’t feel so lonely. 

Klee follows your gaze and watches as one of the butterflies flits and flutters. 

“Can I ask for your help, little Spark Knight? Will you carefully catch me a butterfly? Don’t hurt it, though, we need it alive for the antidote.” 

Immediately, she is perking up, jumping up from her seat. 

“You can count on me!” 

She bounds off into the field of swaying wildflowers. 

You turn back to Kaeya. 

His eye is soft, perhaps fond. 

Before you can loose your bravery, loose your courageous little heart, you stand and move to his side of the bench so that you can watch Klee. 

Your shoulder brushes with his. Your thigh touches his. You’re aware of it all, sharply, keenly. 

He looks at you and you gaze back up at him. For a moment, you get swept away in his star-blue eye. The bend of dark lashes. Like the butterflies in the field, your heart flutters, feeling as delicate as their wings. 

“Careful,” Kaeya says softly, so smoothly that his voice could be a melody, “or people really will think we’re in love.” 

Heat smarts your face again. But you tip your chin up because you’ve never shied away from a challenge before; “why do you say that?” 

Kaeya suddenly reaches out and carefully, as if you might fall to pieces at his touch (and really—you think you might), takes hold of your chin. His thumb barely brushes your bottom lip. Then he says, “the way you look at me.” 

“You were looking at me first,” you accuse but your voice is hushed. 

“And you shouldn’t melt when I touch you.” 

Your stomach swoops like a bird in the sky and then soars. Your lashes flutter. You’re close to him—almost nose to nose. And now you really do think of kissing him like he’s actually yours. As if he could be. 

His eye drops to your lips, thumb inching upwards. 

“Then you shouldn’t touch me so.” You murmur, earnest, and if your voice is soft with pleading—a pleading for what, you can’t tell—then whose to say? “Like—like you want to kiss me.” 

Your nose brushes against his. 

“Don’t—” his voice sticks, “don’t kiss me. No one’s even watching.” 

“Do you not want me to?” 

“Yes, I want—” he stops. 

Your heart sings. I want, I want, I want—

He swallows, “we shouldn’t, though.” 

“Why not?” You dare to ask, hands drifting to his chest, his collar bones. 

You can almost, almost feel his smile, slow and fond, “well, firstly, you’ll get cooties…” 

“Kaeya,” your own smile is a warm curve that you want to feel against his.

“Secondly,” He begins, drawing in a soft breath that you feel beneath the palm of your hand. 

“I have a butterfly!” Klee shouts, head suddenly poking up from the wildflowers in a burst of petals. 

You and Kaeya jolt away from each other, hands drawing back into your laps, facing away from each other as if teenagers caught by your parents. Heat zips through you in a rush. 

He almost—you almost—

Something in your chest bats its wings, excited, elated. It takes to flight. A smile overtakes your face, winning, determined. 

Oh, you think, glancing at him as you head to Klee, oh, you want me, too. 

She opens her little hands for you and the moment she does, the butterfly escapes into the sky—taking to flight. 

You laugh as she squeals. 

She races after it. 

And then you do, too. 

In an instant, Kaeya has joined you, too. 

And it dissolves, the sun slowly moving throughout the sky, into running and chasing and laughing. The joyful sound of your laugh, of Klee’s excitement, of Kaeya’s fondness. 

It melts like the sky, like your heart, like the way you do when Kaeya touches you. 

There’s a moment, quick, when you’re in the wildflowers with him. He’s on his back and you lean over him. 

He peers up at you. 

Beautiful man that he is with sparkling eyes. 

You think, people really will think we’re in love, if you look at me like that. 

And then you say, boldened by the day and the sun and the warmth and the tempo of his heart beneath your open palm;

“You’ll be mine yet, Captain.” 

He blinks, perhaps surprised, before a full, warm laugh falls from his lips. 

“Is that a challenge, princess?” He purrs, looking up at you with a halo of flowers beneath his head. 

You grin, beautiful and wicked and radiant. 

“It’s a promise.” 

And then you stand to run after Klee, down the sloping hill, and into the arms of the sky hanging above your heads. 

He watches you and you can feel his gaze on your back, your silhouette against the sky, your laugh caught on the wind, and tuck the vow into your heart. 

Hope it tucks into his, too, finds it’s home there where no one has before and claim it as yours, yours, yours. 

You open your palms and a butterfly, blue as the sea, as a bird’s wing, leaps from your hands and takes to flight. Takes to the sky all open just for you. 

***

SCENE IV

The belltower in the Cathedral, high above Mondstadt. Storm clouds cling to the horizon. The sky is mostly dark, but the sun escapes through a sliver of clouds and still shines for now, casting the world in a strange contradiction. More ominous. More stunning. Burnished buildings set against wicked, deep blue storm clouds. 

Your skirts swirl against gold and silver bells, as blue as the clouds. Kaeya turns and twists, so we only catch flashes of his face. 

Kaeya takes the steps near two at a time to keep up with your pace. You lift your skirts with one hand, racing up the curving, stone steps, and your other hand holds fast to his. You drag him up and up and up. 

The whole day, you’d dragged him all over Mondstadt, to all your favorite places; bakeries and music stores and the library. Eagerly, he’d followed, been at your side, at your heel like a loyal dog. 

(A lovesick pup—) 

Kaeya thinks he could spend countless days with you like this. 

The world is always more brilliant with you—he can’t deny it. 

And now, you’ve promised him another secret place of yours. 

“How much further?” He breathes hard, surprised to find himself winded. His legs almost burn; there have been far more stairs than he originally thought. Or was promised. but he was also promised the best view in all of Mondstadt, with one of your sweetest smiles.

And really, how could he have denied you then? How could he deny you at all today?  

“Not much!” You chirp back and then all it takes is a little more, until you come to a wooden door. 

It gives easily under your weight, your excited push, throwing it wide open. 

Light gleams, the world bursts before his eyes in a shimmer of gold, a rain of color and life. 

You sweep into the space, the arch beneath the stones and over the other side of one of the great bells. If he peers down, he can see the wooden scaffolding where someone stands to pull on the huge rope below. No doubt, it would take up this whole space, swing wildly so that the two of you would have to nimbly dodge and move, duck just to keep your heads. 

He hopes you’ve accounted for this, too. 

He follows you carefully around the bell, only to come to the other side of it and have the whole world open up before you. 

And it’s just you, in the breeze, and the storm clouds, above all of Mondstadt. 

You hang, perhaps a little too precariously, off one of the large stone pillars. 

Kaeya has half a mind to grab you, to pull you back towards him. But the wind favors you. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You breathe and you’re so taken with it all, that he can hear your voice catch. 

“It is,” he agrees, but he’s not looking at the world the way you are. 

He’s looking at you. 

He watches you watch the streets below and the clouds above. He watches love and adoration paint across your face; joy and a strange sort of melancholy. 

Oh, you’ve always been so open.

Finally, you inhale. 

 Whilst still looking at the world below, the heavens above, you say, “I can’t explain what it does to me–the sky and the city and the wind when it touches me.” You look as if you could almost cry, and immediately his heart gives a lurch in his chest, “I don’t know how anyone can stand it.” 

Something in him twists and constricts. He wants to wipe your tears. He wants to coo, don’t cry, don’t cry. 

You laugh, “I’m sorry,” and shake your head like you’re silly, “I can’t help it–I’m just so happy. I adore the world so much.” 

You turn to face him, open and raw, “I know these haven’t been ideal circumstances,” you start and you shift, and like he’s drawn to the movement, like you’ve pulled him in, he moves, too. 

And then he’s standing in front of you. In front of an ancient bell from a nation that isn’t is, but could be. Above the whole world. Beneath the storm of it. 

“But I’ve been–” a tear escapes and again, as if he possessed, before he can even think, his hand has darted out to catch it. You laugh again, joyful and aching, “you make me so happy. And I—“

“Doesn’t seem so,” he murmurs, “seems I’ve made you cry.” 

You laugh again, sweet to his ears, like their own song. Your hands come up to his chest, palms open and flat against his racing heart. He’s sure you can feel it. Can you hear it? He hopes not. 

And no one is watching. He doesn’t need to stand this close to you or wipe your tears. 

You don’t need to put your hands on his chest and look up at him like that, in a way he doesn’t deserve. 

(You’ll be mine yet, Captain.) 

You look at him like he could’ve hung the moon. Or carved your beloved Mondstadt itself with his own hands from hill and valley. 

An ache spreads its wings like a bird in his chest. It isn’t fair, he thinks, to be looked at by you, with this expression on your face, when he knows he can’t have you. He knows you can’t be his, not truly. 

He wishes you wouldn’t look at him so. 

“They’re happy tears,” you tell him, pawing at his chest, creeping up towards his neck. You sway towards him. You finish what he tried to stop you from admitting, “—and I adore you.” 

Kaeya’s heart gives this twist, like it’s trying to rebel against him. He wants to run. He wants your arms around him. He wants—

“Careful,” Kaeya murmurs reflexively. Careful of what, though, he can’t say. 

Careful with yourself around him? Careful with him? 

You don’t heed his warning at all, and like you always have, you barrel towards all that you want. You press up to him. 

“You do make me happy,” you say again, sweeter now like honey on your lips, tip your chin up like you might offer him a taste. 

“Everything makes you happy,” Kaeya counters, shaking his head fractionally, looking down at you with lidded eyes. 

“Not true,” you almost pout up at him, shaking your head, fingers tightening in the collars of his shirt like you know he’s thinking about fleeing. 

He has half a mind to kiss you. You’re leaning up on your toes a little. He can smell your perfume; red berries and honeysuckle. Warm vanilla. He feels something tighten inside of him, hot and aching. He needs to put a stop to this—

He says your name, in warning. Perhaps fear. 

And you look up at him through the fan of your lashes and say his name like it’s a melody, “Kaeya.” 

He shakes his head now, fractionally, “don’t.” He murmurs, voice a low rumble. 

“Don’t what?” You ask innocently and then you do it again, as if you know perfectly well, “Kaeya–” 

His hand comes down to clutch your wrist, to keep it from moving around to the nape of his neck. He stills you. 

You look up at him, questioning, almost desperate. Perhaps unsure–you go to pull away, but he seizes your wrist, holds it tight to his chest and keeps you close. 

Thunder rumbles. 

“Don’t say my name like that.” He croons, voice a little rough, “don’t torture me.” 

He watches your face transform into understanding. Into—

Your fingers sink back into the fabric of his clothes, emboldened, “Kaeya,” you say like it bursts on your tongue, and then again, “Kaeya,” you hum, sing his name on a note that could be its own siren song. “Kaeya,” you purr as one of your arms winds around his neck. 

His poor heart—

He makes a noise; a soft groan of frustration, a little growl, back in his throat. 

“You’re such trouble,” but his other hand is squeezing at your hip now. “I swore to everyone I had nothing but pure intentions with you.” 

Your nose brushes his, a smile licking at the corner of your mouth, “I surely hope not.”

“I’m supposed to protect you.” He gets out.

“You do—you are.” Soft, sweet little assurance. 

He shakes his head again, barely, nose brushing yours. Fractionally closer. “You’re my responsibility.” 

“Are my desires, too?” You murmur and when you lean towards him to close the short distance between your lips, he suddenly seizes your jaw in his hand.

You gasp.

“And what of mine?” He asks, eye glinting like the too-hot part of a flame. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” 

His voice is a low rasp.

You look up at him with wide eyes, soft in the center, your eyebrows drawing in a little and you look—you look like you adore him. Like you’re desperate for him. 

“Sleeping in my bed every night, my clothes—“ Kaeya allows his thumb to drift over your bottom lip, slow, parting it from your top. He exhales roughly. “What am I supposed to do with you?” 

“Kiss me,” you plead.

Lightning cracks across the sky in a fissure of heat. 

“I shouldn’t.” He counters, even as you kiss at the pad of his thumb. Lips soft and warm, wet as your tongue darts out in a flash of heat. He inhales tightly, letting his thumb be drawn into the crux of your mouth. 

You look up at him through your lashes. He has to fight back another groan. There’s a flush on the nape of his neck, heat that swims beneath his skin. He’s certain you’ll melt him with your gaze alone.

What’s he supposed to do?

How’s he supposed to survive you? 

He scrambles for his wits. 

And firstly, he pulls his thumb from your lips.

“Kaeya—“ you coax again, “Kaeya.” 

“Stop it,” he hushes, “I can’t.” 

“I want you,” you murmur, almost whine.

“You’re a brat.” Kaeya groans finally, “stop tempting me.” 

“I’ll beg,” you sing sweetly. “Is that what you want to hear?” 

“No,” he says quickly because the thought of that makes his mind screech to a halt. “Never. I’d never—“

Make you beg.

He swallows around the words sharply. 

He lays his hands, long and broad, on your shoulders. 

He forces distance between the two of you. 

Thunder grumbles unhappily across the sky.

“I’m not going to kiss you.” 

“But you want to?” 

And the way you look at him, so earnestly and so desperately—

“That’s besides the point—“ You open your mouth to speak, only for him to continue, “my job is to protect you. This would be highly unprofessional of me.” 

“Since when have you—“

“You deserve better.” He finally says, words flying from his mouth before he can stop them, “I am, frankly, a rake and a cheat and—“

“That’s not—“

“The point is,” Kaeya continues over you, lest you do something even worse and try to fight or deny him, “it would be unwise of us.” 

“I, for one, have never claimed to be wise.” 

Kaeya laughs now, full and warm and fond. He shakes his head. You’re near glowing with just the sound of his joy. So he continues;

“It would be foolish. Perhaps, even, one of the worst things we could do.” 

His voice lilts, turns melodic. 

Your hands are back on his chest somehow. Flat over his heart, nearing his collar again. He’s losing. You’re sidling close and he wants to bring you closer still. He can feel all the curves of your body to his, fitting up against him like a missing puzzle piece. 

“Utterly disastrous, really.” He continues, voice growing fainter. He’s losing. 

“Wildly reckless?” You murmur, tipping your chin up, offering your lips to him like a sweet lamb to sacrifice. 

“Terribly…” he drifts, feeling the brush of your lips against his, “stupid, I’m afraid.” 

You hum lightly, barely, in acknowledgement before he’s suddenly closing the distance and kissing you soundly.

Oh, he’s lost. 

(It’s a promise.) 

The wind picks up sharply for a proper storm. Lightning flashes behind his eyelids. 

And that’s all it takes, Kaeya realizes, heart swinging wildly in his chest like a bell tolling. Knocking against his rib cage.

You throw your arms around his neck and deepen it. 

He groans in defeat, damning it all, and grabs at the skirts of your waist, squeezing at your hips desperately. 

Damn it all, he thinks again, knowing it’ll be something of a shipwreck; brutal and splendid and massive. Beautiful and heartbreaking enough that he just won’t be able to look away. 

More thunder, sky swirling and teeming and ready to just burst. He can feel it under his skin. 

You sink your hands into his hair. He nips sharply enough at your bottom lip that a gasp is wrenched from you. He swallows it. 

He wants so much more. 

The sky opens up and rain falls from the heavens in a golden and brutal downpour. 

***

SCENE V 

Dawn Winery in the evening, plum dark and warm from fire in the hearth. You and Diluc are at the grand piano, seated side by side, in an intimate and cozy parlor room. 

Kaeya has just entered and we see the side profile of his face as he watches the two of you. 

“Oh, do you remember this one?” You ask and immediately, music fills the space as your hands dance over the keys in a sweet, jaunty little tune. 

“Like this?” Diluc asks, setting his hands to the lower side to immediately complete the melody you play. “It’s this one, right?” 

“Yes!” You exclaim, the two of you playing with ease, a smile on your face. “We used to play this one all the time for our parents.” 

It’s such an innocent remark. Kaeya is almost caught off guard by it, by the memory that floods back to him. 

Crepus in the lounge chair, your parents across from him on the settee. The glow of the fire warm and gentle. Faces of people that swim in his mind, that he hasn’t seen or has avoided for a long time now, their smiles and laughs. People who left. Who died. Ghosts that once listened to your music, just as he is now, on the outskirts. 

Diluc, surprisingly, is not put off by the memory. Instead, he smiles, “I used to always mess this part up.” 

And then with ease, his large hands cascade over the keys. Not a note out of place.

“And look at you now!” You encourage him. 

He laughs softly, low, like the fire in the hearth. 

With ease, the two of you close the song together, watching each other with crinkled, happy eyes for the timing. For the last notes. 

He can hardly stand how lovely you look. Or how you look at Diluc. 

Have you ever looked at him like that? 

He clears his throat. 

When you see him, your face lights up and the way you say his name, with such warmth and adoration makes him feel worse somehow, “Kaeya!” 

Immediately, Diluc’s face hardens. 

“Apologies,” Kaeya says with perhaps more chill than he anticipates, “I didn’t mean to interrupt the concert.” 

“Not at all,” you respond, “how did we sound?” 

“Your music is lovely as usual.” Kaeya responds flippantly and you eye him for a moment, scrutinizing. 

And then, slowly, you say, “then you wouldn’t mind if we play a few more? This piano does bring back fond memories for me.” 

There’s a glint in your eyes; it could be the fire that favors you or a trick of the light. 

And because Kaeya pretends he doesn’t care, he says, “please; don’t allow me to stop you.” 

He takes a seat on the settee as far from you and Diluc as he can manage. 

Diluc sets his hands back to the keys and opens with a few, small notes, “do you remember this one?” He asks you.

“How could I forget?” You laugh, “I sang this one at every party and soiree we ever had.” 

And Kaeya also instantly recognizes the first chord that Diluc eases out, the tune of it like his childhood. He remembers you standing so small and young, by the piano which seemed so much larger when he was a boy. Your glowing face and sweet, little voice. 

And when you open your mouth to sing this time, it’s mature and warm, lower but more distinguished. 

The lyrics must come to you like from a dream, he’s sure of it. 

As if it was yesterday, you sing the song of a different time, a different lifetime ago it feels like. Of late nights in this very parlor, with laughter and the clinking of glasses. A house full. A heart full. 

You sing of angels and the moon in the sky, the stars, and a love from forever ago. 

And really, it’s so horribly fitting for you; the song is as in love with the world as you are. How could anyone sleep, you sing, how could anyone close their eyes to the night sky? To love? 

Kaeya realizes sharply that he feels as if he’s been sleeping for a very long time. 

He’s turned his eyes away from the stars and love and the whole world. 

And you, wonder that you are, have been desperately trying to wake him. To show him again. 

The last concluding notes ring softly, hang in the air, before you are smiling and leaning onto Diluc’s shoulder, hugging his broad arm to you happily. 

Kaeya looks at the two of you, the light and dark of Mondstadt. The joy and pride of the city, so beautiful in the fire. 

How could he ever compare to the two of you? 

“Kaeya, did you remember that one?” You ask suddenly, turning to face him. 

He somehow manages to unstick his voice, and lies, “not really.” 

After a moment, a heartbeat where you seem to see right through him, you ask, “shall we go home?” 

Yes, he wants to say. Let me take you home. Let me take you away. 

Instead, he says, “I’m hardly in a rush.” 

You stand from the piano bench and saunter over to him. Diluc turns to watch as you come to stand between his legs, peering down at him. 

“I missed you today.” You say honestly, “were you busy?”

Kaeya won’t return the sentiment in front of Diluc. In fact, he’s surprised that you’ve come this close in front of him at all. He thought this was supposed to be between the two of you and no one else. 

Selfishly, he wants to keep it that way. He wants you all to himself. 

Kaeya glances at his brother, then back to you. Diluc’s eyes narrow fractionally in suspicion as Kaeya says, “very, unfortunately.” 

You tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. Your fingers drift then, hovering around his jaw like you might touch him more. You don’t. You say, “let’s go home, then.”

You offer him your hand and when he takes it to stand, you don’t drop it. You tuck up against his side. Kaeya feels something wobbly and fragile take a few, tentative steps inside of him, like a newborn fawn. 

How strange, he thinks, to imagine you as openly his. How strange, to have your genuine affection, your genuine adoration. 

“Thank you for playing with me, Diluc,” you say with a smile, “I hope I wasn’t too much of a bother today.” 

“You’re never a bother,” Diluc promises like the gentleman he is, “and I am always charmed to play the piano beside you.” 

Diluc glances down at your interlocked hands. You let him look. Kaeya fights the urge to pull away and create distance. You squeeze his hand. You say to Diluc, “perhaps we should throw a soiree, the way our parents used to. I miss being in the manor. And then we can play for everyone again.” 

Everyone except the ghosts, Kaeya thinks, their faces pale in his eyes. 

Diluc seems as wary as Kaeya is, for once, but it is so hard to deny you. Kaeya knows that well. 

As if to sweeten it, you let your head tip onto Kaeya’s shoulder, cuddling up to him even closer, “I think it’d be great fun. A reason to come together again.” 

Diluc meets Kaeya’s eyes briefly and he can already feel the scolding he will receive. He can already feel Diluc’s doubt and judgment. But instead of starting a quarrel, he says to you, “Perhaps we can arrange something.” 

And really, Kaeya thinks it's a testament to how charming and lovely you are. 

You bid Diluc goodnight, sweet as ever, and lead Kaeya out by the hand. 

He can feel Diluc’s gaze burning into the center of his back. 

And the moment you pull him around the corner and out of Diluc’s eyesight, you turn and suddenly pull him down into a deep, slow kiss. 

Kaeya’s eyes flutter in surprise and immediately, he attempts to pull away from you. It’s one thing for Diluc to see the way you held his hand, it’s another thing entirely for him to catch the two of you like this.

You hardly let him get a word out, before you’re pulling him back down into a dirtier, heavier, more desperate sort of kiss. 

He yields with a soft, surprised noise of wanting. He kisses you back, just as dirty, just as desperate—tongue licking into your mouth, heat stoking to life along the nape of his neck, the curve of his spine. 

When you pull away, he manages to get out, “well. Hello to you, too.”

You smile, wide and lovely. “I did miss you.” You say again, as if you know you have to convince him, and that he never believes you the first time. And still, he thinks you must be lying. You’d never miss him. 

But you lean up onto your toes to get him to kiss you again; which he does. Easily, happily. It’s gentler than the previous, a little more content, though no less heated. He draws you closer, as close as you can get. His tongue dips gently into your mouth, deep and hungry and exploring. He feels the fabric of your dress bunch up beneath greedy hands, pulling at them, pawing at you. 

A cleared throat. 

The two of you jump apart, whirling around to face Diluc in the entryway. 

He does not look pleased. 

Kaeya, for once, feels like a younger brother again, caught red handed. He opens his mouth for some strange excuse, but you beat him to it;

“We’re taking our role as a couple very seriously. Archon forbid the Fatui question our legitimacy.” 

Kaeya can’t help the laugh that barks out of him, before Diluc’s glare forces him to clear his throat and compose himself. 

“I can see that.” He says dryly. 

“It was my fault,” you then add, “Kaeya is, for once, blameless. I’m a bad influence.” 

“I highly doubt that.” Diluc drawls, “he’s never blameless.” 

Kaeya opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it again.

“We will truly be taking our leave now.” You then say, tugging at Kaeya’s hand, “goodnight, Diluc!” 

The door slams hard behind you. 

Kaeya looks at you, your back to the door, chest heaving a little. You look back at him. 

And then you burst into laughter. He shakes his head, but he can’t stop the smile that comes onto his face. The laugh of disbelief. 

“Diluc is going to kill me,” he finally says, “I can’t believe you.” 

“Oh,” you coo, striding past him, “should I protect you? Diluc is harmless.” 

Kaeya laughs again, though this time it’s dryer, not as funny, but more ironic. 

Well, he has an eyepatch to certainly prove otherwise. You must catch onto his shift in mood, because you take his hand again and assure him, “I’ll deal with Diluc, if you’d like.” 

“No,” Kaeya says, “no need to fight my battles.” 

“I did get you in trouble.” 

 “Well, that I can’t deny.” Kaeya agrees with a smile, slipping his hand around your waist and this time, he knows it is real. Realer than ever before. 

The stars are bright above your heads. The moon is full and shining like a coin and casting you in its soft light. Your eyes are crinkled in delight. 

“You’re also a liar,” you add and Kaeya pauses, looking at you.

It strikes a strange note in him. 

You continue, “I thought you said you weren’t the jealous type?” 

Kaeya’s brows prick upwards, “did you think I was jealous?”

“Kaeya,” you say his name warmly, with love, “I could feel you glaring a hole into the back of our heads while we were at the piano.” 

Kaeya laughs, but it’s rather hollow, “I’m not the jealous type, my dear. I’m sorry to disappoint. Did you have fantasies of being ravished by me in a jealous rage?” 

It’s a little barbed. 

If you notice (which you do), you don’t take his bait. 

“Well, now that you say it…” you tease, walking backwards and in front of him, a sly little smile on your lips. 

Kaeya shakes his head, “there’ll be no ravishing.” He promises, “I’m being a gentleman.” 

“Hm,” you hum lightly, “and how long do you plan to keep that facade up?” 

“It’s not a facade–” he starts to protest, but your hand is winding in the front of his shirt to pull him back into your orbit. 

You pull him into a hard kiss. 

This one is more desperate. Heavier. Hotter. 

He sees what game you’re playing. 

The walk home, in Mondstadt’s streets, for everyone and the moon to see, is a game of cat and mouse. Kissing hard and soft, slow and fast, against brick walls and wooden fences. Leaning into shadows and sharp, little gasps. Teasing kisses along the jaw, before slipping away, and back into the night. 

You manage to lead him right up to the threshold of his bedroom. 

He takes a stance here, roots himself down. He swallows hard—he has to steel himself, he knows. 

So he goes no further than the arch of the doorway, no matter how much you pull at him, or kiss him or tease him. And as hard as it is, he doesn’t even sway when you gaze up at him with that look in your eyes; dreamy and enamored. 

You look at him like he could be a great man. 

It’s absolutely horrifying. His heart jumps in his chest. He can feel as if he can hardly breathe.

“You really won’t sleep with me?” You ask, lips hovering just beneath his. His hands are latched tight to the doorframe of his bedroom as to stay them. To keep his resolve. 

Kaeya shakes his head, “I’m a gentleman.”

You let go of a tired sigh, “I don’t need you to be one.” 

He swallows hard. 

“I’m afraid I need to be one.” He answers. 

“I didn’t take you as chaste.” You murmur, kissing at the corner of his mouth, his cheek. All that warmth comes rushing back to him. 

“Hardly,” he scoffs reflexively, allowing you room at his throat, down the length of his neck. “But I am trying to preserve–” 

He stalls, when he feels your tongue at his pulse. 

You blink up at him innocently and supply, “you’re trying to preserve–?” 

He clears his throat, “some level of professionality. Dignity, maybe.” 

Protection, too, though he isn’t sure anymore if it’s for you or him. Perhaps both. 

The only way he sees this ending is poorly–he cannot foresee a current future where you don’t end up disappointed and hurt by him. He cannot see a future where you don’t leave for your own good. 

And besides, all things must end, he knows, all people must leave or be left behind. 

He was left once and he’s vowed to never be left again, standing in the rain, shivering and young. 

(He tries not to think of you—left at an altar.)

You pull away to look up at him, sweet-eyed and gentle, almost amused with him. “If you say so.” 

Reluctantly and with a great deal of his strength, he leans away to put distance between you. Coldness sweeps in. He tries to appreciate it. “You should sleep. You have rehearsal early tomorrow morning.” 

You step away as well. You offer him a little curtsy in jest, “as you wish, my most proper and chaste lord.” 

“I’m a lord?” He asks, astonished. 

“A prince?” you ask, “or do you prefer a knight? We can roleplay, if you’d like–” 

“Goodnight!” Kaeya announces then, reaching for the doorknob to begin swinging the door closed, to put distance between whatever it is growing between the two of you. 

You laugh, though, so warm and wonderful at his antics that he just can’t help it; he kisses you once more, soundly, goodnight. 

And this time, he says it gentler, lower and sweeter in a way he knows makes you shiver, “goodnight, princess.” 

He watches you fluster, the way you blink up at him. And now it’s his turn to laugh, low and soft and hot, before he quickly swings the door the rest of the way shut. Locking you on the other side of it. Far from his reach. 

Lest he do something horrible. 

Lest he want you too greatly. 

But when he lays down on the couch to sleep that night, he realizes he can hardly sleep at all–and, really, he thinks, who could sleep at all? With the night sky like diamonds, and the way you kiss him like you have everything to lose, and everything to gain. 

Like he could be desired to keep. 

How could he sleep at all? When there is a door between the two of you? And the world hums and glows and shifts, right from underneath his feet. 

How could he sleep? He hears you sing, around and around in his mind, at the piano of his childhood, and the one tonight, a lifetime later. 

***

Finish the rest on Ao3 ->

a/n: this act was too long to post on tumblr in full and i would've had to split it into three separate posts. i figured linking ao3 would be easiest to finish reading :)) thank you for reading!! let me know your thoughts!! <33

[allwaswell16]

Hiiii girly, do you know fics that fit the "grumpy x sunshine" trope? I picture H as de sunshine one, but im open to anything thst fits the trope haha thank you so much love

EDITED TO ADD: ffs I thought this was to my other blog sorry lol. I didn't notice until after I published it. so that link below is to a rec I did there. But if you end up wanting a longer rec than the 6 fics I'm putting here, feel free to send me another ask and I'll put it on my pinned post to do list! Hi, anon! You're very welcome! So I have this rec:

✤ Grumpy Harry/Sunshine Louis

And here are a few with it the opposite way...

You're Not My Type (still I fall) by Imogenlee / @imogenleewriter

His mum is going to kill him!

Well, not kill him. Just give him a right telling off, make him admit she'd been right, then try to confine him to his room until they found a hefty Alpha to look after him and rein him in or something.

She wouldn't manage, of course. Harry is only twenty-four and has no inclination to settle down at all, especially not at the behest of an Alpha.

But, as his mum would point out, that was the same stubborn attitude that got him here: in his car, in a thunderstorm, on the side of a forsaken lane of some little countryside town in Yorkshire. His mobile's got no signal, his GPS isn't working, and he's running low on petrol, so he can't even use the heater.

Oh, and most importantly, his car is stuck in the mud, so even if the GPS was working and he knew where to go, he wouldn’t be able to.

He's been in stickier spots; he reminds himself. Way stickier. This is just a bit of rain; it'll blow over. Then Harry will just... well, alright, he isn't entirely sure what to do when the rain stops because he'll still be stuck and lost. But, hey, there won't be any rain, which is something to cheer about.

Hidden Gardens by pinky_heaven19

Harry burst out laughing, the sound mixing with the loud chatter as more people entered the pub.

“I knew you'd say that! It's just too easy to get you riled up, isn't it?” Harry took another sip of his beer, cleaning a little foam off his upper lip

“Why do you like to piss me off so much?” Louis said, rubbing his closed eyes with the tip of his fingers. He didn't feel as angry as he looked, but apparently he had a reputation to keep.

“Believe me, the only time I did it on purpose was just now. Hey, is this going to be our dynamic forever? I come here, you snap at me for no reason at all, throw me out and I come back? It's getting pretty predictable.”

“Why do you keep coming back, exactly?” Louis said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I like your pretty face. And Niall has sick jokes. The beer is fine, too."

OR the one where Louis owns a pub and Harry is a photographer who needs his help for a project. Louis is grumpy, Harry is not. Louis has a secret. There is some pining and a lot of fluff.

and then there was you by littlehazandlou

"Well Louis who broke into my garden. I'm Harry. This is my garden." the guy, Harry, says, his face breaking out into a bright grin and spreads his arms wide to gesture to the garden.

"Uh... Yeah. 'S nice..." Louis mumbles, looking at the guy suspiciously, "You aren't angry?" He asks "I just broke into your garden."

Or, the one where Louis is a grumpy author and Harry is the hippie who lives at the end of his garden. Sort of.

[alaskan-wallflower]

INTRO POST

Blog(s)

Hey!

I’m in many fandoms though I’m most active in The Outsiders fandom!

I post hot takes, headcanons, and random shit that fits my mood. I vent occasionally but always tag them accordingly, so block #vent or any trigger warnings you may have. I like to be interactive with my followers, so if you wanna add onto any headcanons or you feel like you wanna submit a headcanon to me go right ahead! This is a Kyle centric blog for the most part though so do keep that in mind.

ANY AND ALL CHARACTERS IN FICS OR OTHERWISE ARE 16+ UNLESS STATED OTHERWISE.

I have a few blogs that I run!

My polls blog (I’m always willing to take suggestions/requests, so just send them over there!)

For those worried about the Outsiders/BG allegations (asks are always open if you have questions or you just need to talk it through)

Roleplay Blog (Asks are open!!)

Art Blog (Requests are open!)

Go give them a follow if you’re interested!!

Blog Rules

I am not a shipper. At all. So please do not interact with me about any ship. It makes me uncomfortable unless it’s a canon ship. Sorry.

I’m okay with anyone dming me! however keep in mind I’m going on 17 and if that makes you uncomfortable then keep your own boundaries in mind.

Do not talk anything NSFW with me either. It will be an immediate block and report because while I am almost 17, I am still a minor. And I do not engage with any NSFW activity.

Roleplay

I do roleplay! I do self inserts and x reader roleplays. I don’t do shipping roleplay between the characters though. And I only do double up roleplay though. So keep that in mind.

Roleplay Rules

I tend to be picky about who/how I roleplay so here are some rules

Absolutely do not roleplay with me if you are below sixteen. If you are below sixteen and I find out you are lying about your age it will be an immediate block and report. I do not feel comfortable with doing role play with anyone younger than me. I’m warning you now.

Nothing NSFW, nor spicy things. No making out, no taking off any clothes, no touching private parts, nothing like that. I have bad experiences with that kind of stuff and it can be triggering for me and it just makes me uncomfortable.

I don’t just do romantic stuff but I do platonic stuff too! So don’t feel confined to just romance! I am perfectly okay with self inserting and OCs.

All characters MUST be aged up to at least 17 if you are doing romance.

If you have any other questions about boundaries feel free to ask!

Outro

So that’s basically all I’ve got! If you have any other questions, put them in the notes or you can DM me. Anyway, feel free to talk to me or submit headcanons!! I would love to interact with you guys!! Hope you like my blog!!

[mainstoryarchive]

Ensemble - 104: Impatience

Subaru: Over here!?

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Location: 2nd Floor Passage

Subaru: Over here!?

…Not there either. Damn you Ukki, where are you? Come on out, your parents would cry if they saw you like this! I'm also almost on the verge of crying!

Crap, the DreamFes will seriously start in just a little bit! I'm starting to hear instruments and singing voices, I don't have the time to be doing this either!

No, I can't become weak-willed! I'm gonna save Ukki and go back to the stage where the transfer student is waiting!

And then Trickstar will win the DDD!

Dreams should be big! Limitless! I won't give up until the moment I have grasped it all!

…I'm strangely high spirited, if I do say so myself.

You get hyped up when you run around, don't you? My whole body is warming up ☆

Ah, this isn't the time to be enjoying myself. At this rate I'll seriously run out of time, I have to hurry! Where are you, Ukki?

Oh, I got a message from Sakuma-senpai.

Ahaha, I guess senpai's bad with smartphones and the like? All his words are slurred[1] together like one long word! How cute ♪

Hm? When it's slurred like this it's hard to read… Hmmm?

Hmm. The general rules of the DDD state that you have to be a unit to participate. A unit needs to have a minimum of two members to exist…?

In other words, if the minimum two members are not present on the stage, they won't be recognized as a unit and will be failed?

Wah, crap! Trickstar right now only has the transfer student, one person, on stage!

This means that if I don't go back on stage we'll automatically fail, right?

Ahhh, why can't things go well on both sides! What should I do now?

In the worst case I'll have to give up on Ukki and return to the stage! Losing before even having a chance to fight is just too much!

Shit! Those guys from Knights, especially Sakuma-senpai's little brother! I thought he was awfully generous, the reason he told me all that was all for this?

Those guys are aiming for a win by default! If I don't get to the stage like this, they will win without having to spend any effort!

Those guys are so cunning! I just can't stomach it! I'll make sure to turn this adversity on its head! I'll make both Knights and the president admit defeat!

I'm gonna do my best ☆

Izumi: You over there, you're being noisy!

Unlike normal S1s, the DDD doesn't require students to watch from their classrooms, right?

Everyone has blended in with the normal audience and is watching outside, so just why are you wandering around inside the school building?

How irritating… You're an eyesore, so go away. I'm in a bad mood right now, so who knows what I could do to you.

Subaru: (Wah, what's with this guy? This doesn't look good!)

(This is our first meeting, right? Why does he so obviously throw his malice at me full blast?)

(No, I can't back down now! Time's precious, right now I need to try my utter best to find Ukki!)

Uhm, excuse me! Have you seen Ukki anywhere around here?

Izumi: Ukki…? What? A monkey? If it's a monkey you're searching for then you just have to look in a mirror, you're wearing a really dumb face.

Rather than that… Ah! Hmm…?

I thought I'd seen your face somewhere before. You're Yuu-kun's acquaintance, Trickstar's Subaru Akehoshi, right?

Can you afford to loaf around in a place like this? Trickstar's first opponent is Knights, isn't it? If you don't give it all you've got it won't even be a challenge, you know?

Even if I'm not there, everyone in Knights is an outstanding idol individually.

And even though we joined together only out of self-interest, our skill is top-class in this school.

Being unaware of their own situation, the foolish and idiotic Trickstar… For real, I wonder just what Yuu-kun likes so much about these guys.

Subaru: … …

When you're saying Yuu-kun, do you mean Ukki?

I somehow figured it out. You're the good-for-nothing guy in Knights who confined Ukki somewhere, aren't you?

Where did you hide Ukki, give him back! I won't hesitate to punch you to get Ukki back depending on your answer!

He's my friend! He's my precious comrade!

Izumi: Hmm. How immature, so annoying!

Hey, this isn't a game. Idols are merchandise… If you do something stupid it won't end if you just blame it on youthfulness.

You have to think rationally and calmly. Is it better for Yuu-kun's future to be a part of Knights or Trickstar?

Even a child would know which is better. Why can't either you nor Yuu-kun understand that?

Subaru: Shut up! I don't care, so just bring out Ukki! You seaweed-head!

Which one is better and which road to take all depends on Ukki! He should decide that for himself!

If Ukki himself thinks he doesn't want to walk side to side with us anymore, I'll respect that! I'd even cheer him on, but that isn't the case, is it?!

If you're ignoring his will and forcing him to listen to what you're saying…! I won't forgive that! I will protect the light in his soul!

We, Trickstar, will become the place where his smile can blossom!

[ ☆ ]

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Rei writes everything in hiragana. With only hiragana, interpunction is terrible so it's hard to know when words start and end. In English. it would be like if he used no spaces or commas.

[iridescent-moo-n]

Kalopsia writing again

I think there’s like 2 people that look at this blog but for you guys I’m working on an updated Kalopsia master post!

Anyway, onto the writing cause I do that and stuff.

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Jay's vision returned to them fuzzy and split in two, and swiftly following the return of one sense, Jay tasted the bitter and dry earth they lay face first upon.

Great. It got control again. Just what I needed today.

They pulled themselves into a tight ball, and then pushed out, stretching their limbs as if they were a cat. It was a silly way to stretch but it made them feel better. The novelty of it.

Slowly sitting up the cool stickiness of their clothes alerted them to the unfortunately present dampness of their clothing where it had been touching the forest floor.

So I've been out for a while then. Wonderful.

They held out their palm, focusing carefully on the now gentle warmth in their chest, they dragged it out into their hand, freeing the fire from it's temporary confinement a small flame hovered above their hand, and the familiar whispers of pain in their ears along with it.

With their free hand they carefully cleared the ground behind them and made a pile of the drier leaves and sticks in the centre. Once satisfied the fire wouldn't jump and burn down the forest they placed the still flickering flame above their hand on the pile of kindling, letting it grow and burn away the dampness of their clothes.

Better start walking soon,

The thought crossed their mind as they stared at the forest that was initially behind them, the familiar trail of scorched earth, dead plants and flame-kissed trees; a long path of destruction easily followed. And it would be. They were probably already following the trail. With any luck *Aries* would be there too, smugly walking along the black earth with a squadron of lackeys in toe.

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They trudged into the little town, entering from a quaint cul-de-sac near dusk. They attracted the odd stare, they were grubby (an understatement) and these people seemed more upper-class than anything, so naturally, they didn't particularly want to welcome a scrappy teenager with open arms.

By the time they had walked all the way into the centre of the uncomfortably polished settlement the first stars were twinkling mockingly in the blue-grey sky.

Wholly distracted by staring up they slammed into a passer-by of the town.

"FUCK! What the hell was that about you dickhead?"

Tangled in a mess of shoelaces and a bulky scarf lay one of the most amazing people Jay had ever seen. Their hair was cropped, but the bulk of their clothes made up for the shortness of their hair. Their face didn't seem to say 'I feel the same' back to Jay, but more of a 'I have somewhere to be'.

"Pffff. Look up idiot. The stars are out. I don't go around hitting people on purpose." Jay said as comically as they could muster.

"Of course they are. Do I look stupid? It's fucking night time. That's a horrible excuse for running into me." This stranger was clearly not impressed.

Jay pulled themselves out of the thrall of the stranger's scarf and stood. Figuring they were unable to make amends with this clearly irritable denizen, they offered them a hand not out of a need to 'win them over' but just to piss them off.

Surprisingly, the stranger grabbed onto Jay's arm and used Jay's weight to pull themselves up, standing uncomfortably close to Jay, they noted that their eyes were exactly level.

God that doesn't help.

"My name is Emery. If I see you again you owe me some stargazing for this incredibly annoying stunt. Or just a bit of money to dry clean this scarf. It's cashmere you know." They brushed as much of the dirt off their scarf as they could and swiftly walked away in the direction they were originally headed.

Somewhere to be, as I expected. These people.

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A little excerpt of Jay meeting Emery!

(This is so absolutely subject to change.) but I figured it would be a nice sketch to contrast the pure angst I posted about Jay on this blog.

[thepikkebeanchronicles]

The Side Hustle Conundrum

As a penguin living in the chilly confines of Antarctica, life was a perpetual cycle of belly slides, fishing for my next meal and occasionally dodging the antics of the sneaky seagulls. But lately, I’ve been feeling the financial chill. My bank account was as barren as the frozen tundra, prompting me to embark on a quest for extra income. I mean, let’s face it, being a penguin doesn’t exactly come with a hefty paycheck. So, I decided to dip my flippers into the world of entrepreneurship and side hustles.

With dreams of financial freedom dancing in my head, I set out to start my own business. But what kind of business could a penguin possibly run in the icy depths of Antarctica? With my flippers and determination, I explored various side hustle opportunities. That’s when it hit me like a snowball to the beak: a print-on-demand online shop over at Redbubble!

I fired up my laptop and a Wi-Fi connection that was frostier than a polar bear’s stare and dove headfirst into the world of e-commerce. My designs were a mix of penguin puns and quirky illustrations, guaranteed to make even the grumpiest seal crack a smile. I spent hours perfecting my designs, carefully selecting the trendiest fonts and the most eye-catching colours.

With my designs ready to roll, it was time to set up shop. And let me tell you, navigating the world of e-commerce was no easy feat for a penguin. Typing with flippers? Not ideal. But after a few slipped keys and accidental orders for anchovy-flavoured ice cream, I finally got my store up and running.

But what good was a shop without customers? Determined to spread the word, I turned to the digital realm and launched my blog, aptly titled “The Pikkebean Chronicles.” At first, my efforts seemed fruitless. The seals just rolled their eyes and went back to sunbathing and the albatrosses simply squawked in confusion. But with each flipper tap on my ice-cool keyboard, I chronicled my journey with a blend of wit and charm, hoping to lure readers into the frosty embrace of my print-on-demand shop.

Yet, a blog alone wouldn’t suffice. I needed to harness the power of social media to amplify my message. Armed with hashtags and an unshakable resolve, I delved into the world of Instagram, Youtube and TikTok. My journey to social media stardom was a slippery slope. But hey, a penguin’s gotta hustle right? Antarctica wasn’t build in a day.

So, there you have it, the tale of how a humble penguin turned a crazy idea into a thriving online business. And as I sit here, sipping on a fish smoothie, I can’t help but feel grateful for the opportunity to prove that even a flightless bird can soar in the world of entrepreneurship.

If you ever find yourself in need of some frosty fashion or a cool custom creation, remember to look no further than Pikkebean. Just swing by my online shop, where the fish is always fresh, the designs are always delightful, and the laughter is always in abundance. After all, who better to bring a little Antarctic flair to your life than a penguin with a passion for print-on-demand?